Meet Virginia
by labellebeaucoup
Summary: "We just like to sit at home and rip on the president."
1. Chapter 1

_**Meet Virginia**_

"He can't seriously think this is okay." Olivia Pope stared at the television hanging above the dingy bar, her eyes narrow slits. Her back ached - the wooden, saddle style barstool wasn't ver comfortable. She was out of place in the small bar. Her straightened hair, gold Prada suit, black-silk blouse, and tall, skinny black heels stood out from the worn jeans, dirty shirts, and knee-high Wellingtons of most of the inhabitants. But she had wanted to get away. Washington was too much, sometimes, and going out without someone noticing her was an impossibility. At least here, in Cambridge, no one recognised her. She wasn't Olivia Pope. She wasn't the fixer or the gladiator of DC. She was just a woman. An obviously well-to-do woman, but a woman nonetheless.

"Not a fan of the president?" The deep, rumbly voice came from the man beside her. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she took in his appearance. He wasn't from here, either. Sure he had made a better effort than she had to fit in, but he still stood out. His jeans were new, clean and barely worn, and she had seen that same black and red flannel on a runway in New York late last year. He, like her, nursed a glass of the top-shelf whisky. They were outsiders, only she didn't see a point in hiding it.

"I presume you are?" she answered his question with one of her own, her wine-coloured lips pressing against her glass as she sipped slowly on the burning amber liquid. Placing the glass on the stained bar, she twisted her head to look at the man beside her, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. He wore a black ball cap pulled low over his forehead and kept his head bent. Like her, he didn't want anyone to know who he was.

"I think the guy's doing an okay job," he shrugged, tossing his head back just long enough to finish his whisky in one shot before slamming the glass back on the bar and signalling for another.

"I suppose you would," she sneered, curling her hand around her glass and keeping her attention on the television. She had heard rumours of the president's support for this bill. Rumours that she hadn't liked. Being in her position, she could have easily waltzed over to Capitol Hill and bargained (or, if she wanted to be technical about it, blackmailed) key senators into voting against the bill. But she wanted to give the president the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to believe that the rumours she was hearing were just rumours. And so she had gotten the hell out of DC for the night. Away from command. Away from power. Otherwise, she would be too tempted to use it.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" He was offended. She didn't care. Swirling her glass in her hand, ice cubes clinking, she spoke:

"You're a wealthy white man. What would you know about the implications of President Grant's policies?" She brought the glass to her lips, trying to keep the smirk from her face at the flabbergasted shake of his head. In part, their conversation was somewhat amusing to her. Both arguing over a man neither had met. Not that she hadn't had her fair amount of chances to meet President Fitzgerald Grant III. He had wanted her to work for his team. Had sent her former mentor, Cyrus Beene, knocking on her door plenty of times. Her soul; however, was not for sale.

"Either you're very observant," he brought his glass to his lips as she lowered hers, "or a stalker."

"Believe me," her gaze returned to the television screen as Abby Wheelan (her friend was long overdue for a phone call - Olivia wasn't buying that the redhead was supportive of this new legislation) was in the ending stages of the press conference, "I don't _do_ my own stalking."

He laughed at her joke. Though, in truth, it wasn't much of a joke at all. She had a law degree. In fact, she happened to be an extremely successful lawyer. The things she did could be considered stalking. Or rather, the things she had had done. Some of the things she'd done were borderline illegal. When she had first come to Washington, she'd been wide-eyed and hopeful - completely and utterly convinced that she would be the one to make a difference without losing her way. But even she had learned that keeping your hands clean in the nation's capital was impossible.

"What's so wrong with this bill?" He sat his now empty glass on the counter and gestured for the bartender once more. The old, grimy man raised a brow at his patron, but was quick to fill his glass when he was slipped a bit of green. Olivia chuckled at that. Whoever this man was, he had the money talks attitude of Washington down pat.

"You mean what could possibly go wrong with eachers concealing weapons during class?" She tossed her head back, repeating the man's motions from earlier and downing her drink. Shaking her head and pursing her lips, swallowing hard, she coughed. Her eyes burned, a tear trickling down the side of her cheek. The liquid was downright foul. Still, she didn't refuse the bartender's offer of a refill.

"The spike in mass shootings can potentially be curtailed if more citizens are comfortable and can carry a weapon. There is the potential for less casualties."

"Because more guns will clearly lead to a drop in these incidences. If only Ronald Reagan had been surrounded by people with guns when he was shot. Oh wait…" she rolled her eyes, gulping the liquid in her glass, eyes burning. Bringing a hand to her mouth, she coughed roughly, body shaking. Swallowing, she tried not to focus on the feeling of the liquid threatening to spew out of her mouth. Shoving her glass away, she brought a hand to her forehead, swiping at the small beads of sweat that had formed. Fuck whisky.

"Deep breaths," the man gestured for the bartender, "Can you get my friend here some water?"

"I don't believe we're friends, Mr…" Still, she took the water from the bartender, sipping gingerly at the cool liquid.

"Is it because of our disagreement?" He tactfully ignored her attempt at gathering his name. She shrugged her shoulders - that was fine by her. She wasn't too keen on giving her name, either. Anonymity was best in this situation; desired even.

"Disagreement? You still haven't given a decent response for your support."

"Something has to be done. We can't keep twiddling our fingers and hoping it will go away. We've tried making stricter gun laws - it doesn't stop the violence. Someone always finds a way. Now it's up to us to make sure that potential victims can protect themselves."

"And more guns is the answer to that? This legislation is dangerous for everyone, but especially for people of colour." She pushed her water from her, signalling for the bartender and ordering something a bit stronger.

"How is it dangerous?"

She thanked the bartender, sipping at the Jack and Coke he had made her - in a small, backwoods bar, there wasn't much of a selection. Carefully, she pondered her response. His words had held no underlying challenge to them - he was genuinely curious of her stance.

"How many times have you seen on the news that a trained authority figure has shot an innocent man or woman of colour? All because their pre-conceived notion, whether of conscious racist intent or not, is that people of colour are, generally, 'up to no good'. How long do you think it will be before a teacher makes the same error in judgement?" She took a long, hearty sip of her drink. Her heart beat fiercely - as it did every time she presented her case. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She did love the intrigue and thought of political debate.

"That…I hadn't thought about that," he whispered. He sounded almost ashamed, lowering his head and retreating even further under the ball cap he wore, bringing his glass to his lips and pausing. Shaking his head, he put the glass back on the bar without taking a sip, "What would you propose be done? Something has to happen."

"Just because something has to happen doesn't mean that new legislation has to be rushed without weighing every option." The mad rush to fix a broken system in the aftermath of every incident was something that Olivia had consistently, and loudly, been advising against. No one seemed to take the time to just think. "Maybe the president should start at why this is happening and work from there."

"That doesn't stop anything at present," he pointed out.

"No, but neither does giving teachers weapons. Instead, now another variable has been added that has the potential to escalate the situation."

"You should work in Congress."

She chuckled at that. If he only knew. Still, she couldn't help countering: "So should you."

"Is that so?"

"You give as well as you get."

"You still haven't told me what you would suggest." He swirled the small amount of liquid that was left in his glass, watching his ice cubes clink against one another.

"Is this some desperate attempt at seducing me?" she knew the answer - he was friendly, good-looking, and enjoyed talking, but he had made no noticeable pass at her. Still, as she had observed, he _was_ good-looking and she was incognito, making the most of not being Olivia Pope for the night. Who knew? She might get lucky. "Or are you attempting to get all my good ideas and sell them to the highest bidder?"

"Maybe I'm attempting to understand your different ideas," he smirked. "Or I'm just trying to keep you talking."

"It isn't hard to keep me talking." She batted her lashes, giggling. The political conversation was done for today. She had come here for a break and a break she was going to get. Tomorrow, she had all the time in the world to be pissed at President Grant. Tonight was for her.

"It is hard to keep you on track, though." His low chuckle emanated from the depths of his chest and she found a warm blush creeping across her face. She had mentioned that he was good-looking and she was only human. It had been a minute since she had scratched her itch. There was a lot to handle in Washington - there was never a shortage of senators and congressmen/women who needed some dirty secret covered. And since Edison, she hadn't dated anyone. Hadn't even slept with anyone.

"Maybe you just haven't found the right topic yet," her voice was low, seductive as she wrapped her lips around the straw in her drink, sipping slowly.

"Here I thought you were enjoying proving me wrong."

She pulled her straw from her mouth, pinching it between her fingers and swirling the ice and remaining liquid around the glass. Their conversation had been enjoyable. Even on different ends of the argument, he had been accepting of her opinions. It had almost felt like he was filing away what she had said for future use. Almost. But she was burned-out on politics. Tonight was an escape.

"You did make it rather easy," she smirked, "But politics hits a little too close to my regular life. So change of topic?"

"Why not?" He reached for the bowl of peanuts on the counter, cracking a shell and digging the nut out.

"I'm Olivia by the way." She held her hand out, dangling over the bar. There wasn't a need for a last name. They wouldn't see one each other again.

"F…Thomas." He grasped her hand, his large, calloused hand dwarfing hers. The callouses on his fingers…whatever he did, he wrote a lot.

"Thomas isn't your name." She raised a brow, challenging him as she sipped at her drink. The faux pas of his hadn't gone unnoticed. He had audibly started to introduce himself with an "f" sound.

"My middle name. I'm trying something new." If it hadn't been for his ball cap, she would have seen him wink. She nodded, accepting that answer. He could've given her a false name, and he may have, but she didn't care. It wasn't like she was going to try to find him later. None of that mattered.

"So, Thomas," she rolled his name around her mouth, playing with the syllables, "What brings you to Cambridge?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"You're deflecting," she accused, shaking her head.

"I needed a break from my job. Too many people following me around."

"Same." She could relate to the desire to escape all the people. Her line of work wasn't always clean and, for that reason, she was nearly always surrounded by security. Or Huck. The man had taken it upon himself to become her protector. Even now, she was willing to bet that he was hidden somewhere nearby, keeping a close eye on her. Hell, he had probably already done a thorough background on the man sitting beside her. Most likely, Huck even knew his name.

"Sounds like we both have some pretty cruddy jobs." He raised his glass to his lips and she watched, memorised, as he took a sip. Having suppressed her basic, primal feelings for so long, she suddenly found it hard to control them. And everything the man did was starting to become a turn-on.

"I like it. Sometimes."

"Well, I like mine sometimes, too."

"It's a lot of pressure. Having so many people look to me to make things right."

"You have no idea," he mumbled under his breath so low she barely caught it. Before she could comment; however, he began speaking once more, loudly this time, "Are you hungry? I'm hungry."

Choosing to ignore his first comment - he had barely whispered it and, being a man, he was probably misconstruing events to believe that everyone looked to him, she laughed at his secondary comment, "I feel like that's the alcohol talking."

"Alcohol talking, huh?" His lips curled upward and he downed the remainder of his drink, twisting in his seat so his body faced her, "Either way, I'm starving and there's a local pizza joint down the street that makes the best pepperoni pizza you'll ever eat."

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow, turning her head to look at him. He stood from his barstool, holding a hand in her direction.

"You know you don't want to miss out on the greasy goodness," he winked. Throwing all caution to the wind (if he really was a horrible guy, Huck would have intervened by now. He always did), she placed her hand in his and stood on somewhat wobbly legs. She hadn't drank anything stronger than wine in a long time.

Dropping his hand, she reached for the lanyard around her neck, frowning when he placed his hand over hers and shook his head. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled his leather wallet out (okay, he definitely had a high-end job), and tossed a few hundred dollars on the bar.

"My treat. I'm sure most of the drinking was because you had to suffer through my conversation," he winked and, just like that, she didn't feel so bad that this man she barely knew had paid for her drinks. Laughing, she followed him from the bar.

Outside, the sun was just beginning to drop over the horizon, painting the sky vivid shades of purple, yellow, pink, and red. The warm breeze fluttered past them, tugging at the bottom of her golden blazer. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the salty scent of the sea mixed with the smell of running cars zooming down the street and the unmistakable tell-tale smell of a coming rain storm.

He led her down the worn, concrete sidewalk. Large flowerpots dotted the way, colourful, late spring flowers blooming under the harsh light of the street lamps that had just flickered alive. A display of toys and balloons filled the window of the shop by the bar. _"All the Small Things"_ was written in curly, blue cursive. Olivia smirked at that. A toy store beside a bar. Further down the sidewalk was a glass storefront with a large pizza covering most of the window and _"Page's Pizzeria" _circumnavigating the large piece.

The doorbell jangled when he opened it, using his arm and an awkward bow to wave her through. Hardwood floors shined under the harsh hanging lights and a television played loudly in the corner - announcing the latest NFL draft picks. A sign stood to the side, inviting guests to seat themselves. She waited for him to take the lead, sitting at a booth near the door. Sliding in across from him on the well-worn leather, she glanced at the menu. She wasn't going to be ordering - he was. He had the experience here and he had already talked up their pizza well-enough. Running a hand through her hair, she wondered just when she had become so comfortable with someone making decisions for her. She was Olivia Pope. The fixer. She made decisions for others. And maybe, just maybe, she was tired of making decisions all the time.

"What can I get ya'll to drink?" Their waitress had a nice, southern charm to her. She was a teen, if Olivia had to guess. Her bright green eyes danced merrily and her striking red hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The jeans and shirt with the restaurant's logo hinted at this being a more casual diner and, Olivia realised, made her yearn to live a small town life.

"Coke, please," Olivia ordered.

"Make that two."

The girl nodded, bounding away to retrieve their drinks. Olivia glanced at the man across from her. He still hadn't removed his ball cap. "Do you wear that thing everywhere?"

"Huh?" He tilted his head before reaching up to grasp his cap, "Oh! I forgot I had it on."

Pulling the black cap from his head, he sat it beside him on the bench. Olivia drank in the sight of him, feeling a twinge that she knew him. Try as she might, though, she couldn't connect the dots between any face or name she had stored away and the one before her. Maybe it was his devilishly handsome smile, his full, thick brown curls, or the way his blue eyes twinkled as he looked at her. He made her feel comfortable. That was it.

"Here ya go." The waitress returned, placing their drinks before them and handing them straws. Pulling a pad from her pocket, she poised her pen above the paper as she asked, "What can I get ya'll?"

"A large, pepperoni pizza with extra garlic butter." He gathered their menus, handing them to the girl and thanking her before she scurried off. Interlacing his fingers, he placed them on the table. She took a sip of her coke, her mouth suddenly dry and he watched with intensity in his blue eyes.

"Where are you from?" He prompted, sipping at his own cola.

"DC."

"How unlucky am I that I've never met you before?" His eyes danced with amusement and he leaned just a bit closer.

"You live in DC?"

"Live and work."

She shrugged. His knowledge of politics coupled with his admission that he lived and worked in DC meant that he was probably active in the game, too. It was an unfortunate fact that they had never crossed paths. Though she also wondered if that wasn't such a bad thing, after all. They had different ideologies and, had they met in DC, she probably wouldn't have taken the time to speak with him aside from figuring out how to crush his every agenda. Clearly the people he worked for weren't the same as the ones who regularly employed her.

"Kids?" He inquired. She snorted at the question. Her, a mother? That wasn't likely to ever happen. First, she'd have to find the right guy and, from the way her love life went, she was nowhere close to finding the right guy.

Shaking her head, "You?"

"Three."

Her gaze fell to his hands, noticing for the first time the small, circular patch of untanned skin on his ring finger. Taking a deep breath, she raised a brow and looked pointedly at the finger. Raising his hand, he chuckled as he observed them.

"Three month's post-divorce. I married because I thought I was in love and wanted kids, a house, everything that came with it. My ex-wife married because she wanted the house, the money, the name, and everything that came with it."

"She sounds shallow."

"She is."

Olivia nodded, pulling back and picking up her glass as the waitress appeared by the table, sliding their pizza in between them. After offering to bring refills, she disappeared, leaving the two of them to each other once more. He was quick to dig into the pizza, placing slices on both their plates. Taking her plate from him, a smile slid across her face when she took her first bite. Warm, melted cheese, thick spicy pepperoni, and tangy, with just the right amount of proportions pizza sauce exploded in her mouth. She didn't even mind the extra greasy flavour that only seemed to enhance the experience. He had been right - this was good pizza. Closing her eyes, she savoured the euphoria her tastebuds were going through.

Cracking an eye open a moment later, she grinned to see that his reaction had been the same as hers. A pleased expression still plastered his face and he was chewing slowly, grease running down the tips of his fingers. Unlike her, he had forgone the fork and decided to eat pizza the undecidedly American way. Opening his eyes, he winked at her, and laid his pizza on his plate. Reaching for a napkin, he swiped at the grease on his hand before taking a sip of his drink.

"Is this good or what?" His tone held a bit of a challenge to it, almost as if he were daring her to say otherwise. The Olivia in her wanted to take his challenge, to say it was only okay, but she had already decided that here, tonight, she wasn't that Olivia. DC Olivia would stay locked away.

"Phenomenal," she agreed, moving her fork to her plate and ready to dig in further. "How did you know about this place?"

"One of the men who work for me is from here." So he had employees. Interesting.

"You have your own company?" She reached for her soda, taking a long sip of the cool, bubbly liquid.

"You could say that." Something about his response seemed off, like he was hiding the truth. Still, she let it slide. He didn't want to tell her what he did and she wasn't going to force him. It wasn't important.

Silently, they finished their meal. Both turned the waitress down when she appeared to offer dessert, patting their stomachs and claiming they had had enough. Truth be told, Olivia was more than ready for dessert, just not that kind. She allowed him to pay once more and followed him back onto the now dark streets. Crickets could be heard in the distance and mosquitos buzzed around the lit street lamps. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, but it was still warm enough to prompt Olivia to remove her golden jacket, slinging it over her arm and revealing the silky black, sleeveless blouse underneath.

"It's a beautiful town. Peaceful," she commented, walking a bit closer to him than was necessary.

"I wouldn't mind living here."

"Maybe someday."

"Someday," he agreed, casually strolling to a stop beside a black SUV. She stopped beside him, her breath hitching in her throat. Was he going to offer to continue their night elsewhere or was this goodbye?

"I've had fun tonight, Olivia."

"Me too," she dropped her voice, edging closer and placing her hand on his chest. A sultry look crossed her eyes and a coy smile played at her lips. She didn't want there to be any doubt about her desire for the evening.

"Thank God," he chuckled, gripping her hip and bringing his other hand to her hair, massaging her scalp as she tilted her head back, anticipating his kiss. "I was hoping I hadn't misread the situation."

His lips crushed against hers, her sigh melting into his mouth at the taste of whisky and pizza that invaded her senses. His lips were shockingly soft and his tongue…the things that man was capable of doing with his tongue. And they were only kissing. Pulling away, she placed a hand on his chest and attempted to catch her breath - she didn't want to be the girl whose knees buckled from a simple kiss. A steamy, hot, better-than-she's-ever-had-before kiss, but a kiss nonetheless.

"Do you have a place nearby?" She took the plunge, guiding them in the direction she wanted to go.

"There's a bed and breakfast down the street," he offered, tilting his head to the right. She nodded - that would do. With a fire building in her stomach, she grasped his hand and allowed him to lead her down the block. The bed and breakfast was an old, pre-Civil War home. Large, white columns gleamed in the beginning starlight. Olivia followed him through a black, wrought-iron gate and up a winding sidewalk. Blooming flowers of purple, pink, yellow, and white lined the pathway. He held the glass door open for her, letting her slide past him before entering.

Heels clicking against the shiny, hardwood floors, Olivia followed him to the marble reception desk. She barely listened as he made arrangements with the old man behind the counter. Her eyes drifted to the eggshell white walls and the oil paintings that covered them. Engrossed in a painting of a young girl, she barely registered his hand on her lower back, leading her up a large staircase and to the left.

At the top of the landing, he guided her to the left. Down the long, gleaming hall, they stopped at the door at the very end. He produced a silver key, sliding it into the lock of the dark, oaken door. She grinned at there - there was something undeniably quaint about a keyed lock versus a keycard. Tossing the door open, he allowed her to enter before following behind, removing the key and shutting the door. Her eyes scanned the room. It was beautiful and elegant in that turn of the century way.

A single, oaken dresser stood by the wall, at the midpoint of the room. Across the room, a queen-sized bed was nestled against that wall. A white, floral comforter covered the bed and a lacy bed skirt hung to the floor. Pillows were piled at the head of the bed, resting against the intricately carved headboard. The walls were the same eggshell white of the lobby. Harsh, bright light shone from the two, iron lamps hanging on the wall. A flowery perfume smell lingered in the air.

Overall, it was perfect. Twisting around, she placed her bag on top of the dresser and kicked out of her heels. Suddenly, she found herself considerably shorter than him. Tossing her blazer beside her bag, she turned to him with a hungry glint to her eyes. It really had been too long. Much too long.

He lounged against the door, arms crossed over his body, and watched her. Her eyes shone like a child being presented with a brand new toy and a smile graced her lips. He exhaled sharply when she raised her arms, her blouse lifting just enough to show the smooth, toned skin of her abdomen. Adjusting himself, he pushed away from the wall and slowly made his way to the middle of the room.

"I'm not usually this kind of girl," she stated, raising her arms to wrap around his neck. He chuckled, his hands brushing up the length of her sides, barely brushing against her breasts. Even that minuscule amount of contact was enough to leave her panting, wanting more.

"I'm not usually this kind of guy."

And she knew he meant that. His blue eyes held just the smallest hint of guilt - as if he couldn't believe he was about to have a one-nightstand. She almost couldn't believe it, either. Something told her he wasn't the kind of man to indulge in physical contact without more. He wasn't used to screwing and leaving. She had sensed that throughout their evening together. It had been more special than most of her dates with Edison. A hell of a lot more special than the one date Jake had conned her into. That man...she shuddered at the thought, pushing him far from her mind. Huck had taken care of him. That's all she needed to think about.

"We'll be each other's first," she smirked, her hands creeping up the nape of his neck to bury themselves in his thick curls. He chuckled, bending his head and placing his lips against hers. She sighed into the kiss, groaning as he slid his hands down her back, gripping her ass. Squealing as he lifted her off her feet, she gripped his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the soft material of his shirt. Walking with a purpose, he carried her to the mattress behind them, gently laying her on the soft bed.

"You don't waste any time," she grinned, her hands moving to the buttons of her blouse. Slowly undoing each button, she slid her arms out of the shirt and tossed it to the floor. Next, she unbuttoned the golden trousers she wore, unzipping them and, with his help, kicking them off her long legs. Standing from the bed, he made quick work of his own clothing, tossing them in a heap on the floor with hers.

She stretched her arms above her head, pushing her breasts out as she did so, her eyes hooded with desire at the thick outline she could clearly make out through his boxers. He certainly wasn't small. Giving a coy smile and a come hither look, she reached behind her back, undoing the tiny metal clasp that held the thin scrap of black lace in place on her chest. Tossing the offended article to the floor, a jolt of pleasure made its way down her body, pooling between her legs, as he slowly licked his lips at the sight of her breasts. He edged toward the bed, the soft mattress dipping beneath his weight as he placed his knee on the bed, swinging his other leg around until he was straddling her, his body hovering just above hers. Resting his weight on his arms, he brought his lips to hers, meeting her for a searing kiss.

Breathless, the two pulled away. Her mouth fell open as he planted steamy, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, and to her breast. Her hands gripped the bedcover, twisting the fabric, when his mouth closed around her nipple, sucking and pulling on her sensitive flesh. He took his time, showing both breasts plenty of attention. By the time he pulled away, she was writhing with want. Rubbing her legs together in an attempt to release some of the tension building, she gasped when she felt feather-like kisses brushed across her abdomen, down past her belly button, to her hip, and, finally, right above her dripping centre.

As wet as she was, she could put out a wildfire. She swore he had been close to giving her an orgasm just from the attention he showed her still tingling breasts. Allowing her legs to fall open, she sighed when he settled on the mattress between them. She held her breath with each kiss he placed on her thighs, anticipating the moment she would finally feel his mouth where she wanted it most.

Stars exploded behind her tightly closed eyelids at the first feel of his tongue running up and down her slick folds, taking special care to stop and flick her already hardened nub with each pass. The man was a pro with his mouth. As one hand lay flat against her abdomen, holding her body down, the other found its way between her legs and soon, his restraint was the only thing keeping her from coming off the bed at the feel of his mouth and fingers combined. Wet noises filled the room as his fingers, already coated in her heady arousal, worked in tandem with his mouth. In. Out. In. Out.

"Thomas," she breathed heavily, hands still twisting the covers and back arching off the bed, "I'm..."

Her words fell silent, mouth hanging slightly agape, as the most intense orgasm she had ever felt ripped through her body. He remained between her legs, lapping up every last drop as her body shook with the after waves. Pulling away, he gave her a wink as he brought his hand to his mouth, licking his fingers. Despite her recent orgasm, she could already feel a twinge in the pits of her stomach at his actions.

Using her elbows to push herself into a sitting position, she swung around until she was on her knees and crawled to the edge of the bed. Hooking her fingers in the waistbands of his Calvin Kleins, she pulled at the grey fabric, giggling when his rock hard dick flopped out of the material, almost hitting her in the face. Leaning back, resting her bottom against the heels of her feet, she watched him kick out of his boxers. Reaching a hand forward, she wrapped her tiny hand around his dick, pumping slowly. His head fell back, eyes half-closed, as he watched her work her magic with her hand. As he thought he couldn't take much more, she removed her hand, dark eyes seeking out his.

"Fuck," he hissed when she began to leave tiny, butterfly kisses along the tip of his dick. It was just enough to make him harder than he thought possible. Slowly, she eased him into her mouth, keeping her eyes on his as she did so. Fire burned behind his blue orbs and he itched to place his hands in her hair. He groaned as he hit the back of her throat, soft choking sounds coming from her before she finally pulled away, leaving his dick wet with her saliva. Over and over again she took him into her mouth, her hand scraping up his thigh to massage his ball sack.

"I'm going to -" he tried to warn her. In response, she took all of him in her mouth, as much as she could, and swallowed as he came. Hard. Long, steady streams of his hot seed slid down her throat. Pulling away from him, she licked her lips and stood on shaky feet. The sounds he had made and the way pure, unbridled passion had passed across his face had only made her desire grow. She was happy to see that he didn't need much time to recover. His rock hard member poked her stomach as he bent to give her a kiss.

Falling back on the bed, she spread her legs, giving him an inviting look. He held up one finger, asking her to wait but a moment longer as he grabbed his pants from the floor. Retrieving his wallet from his back pocket, he dug around in the leather before finding a foil package. Dropping his wallet and pants back to the floor, he ripped the package open and rolled it over his hardened length. Returning to the bed, he wasted no time in pressing his dick against her warm, velvety lips.

A hiss escaped her lips as he slowly inched forward. It had been too long and he was well-endowed. Her toes curled as he slowly buried himself in her. Kissing her lips and rubbing her arm, he gave her time to adjust to the feel of him. When she began twisting her hips and squeezing her pussy around his dick, he knew she was ready. He held nothing back as he set a bruising pace, the headboard making a tattoo against the wall.

"Fuck your dick feels good," she gasped, hands gripping at the bedsheets as he moved above her.

"You're so fucking tight," he ground out, teeth clenched as he focused on the feelings in his groin.

With a gasp, she dug her feet into the mattress, back arching and pussy clenching his dick so tight he couldn't move. He waited as she rode out her waves of pleasure before finally moving again. Gripping the headboard and burying his face in her neck, he groaned as he came, filling the condom.

Pulling from her, he discarded the condom in the trash can before falling back onto the bed beside her. Her eyes were already fluttering shut - he had given her quite the workout. Pulling her close, although neither could say why, he, too, fell into a deep slumber.

/

One week later, Olivia found herself at her desk, working on a new case. There was never a shortage of cases. Especially cases of senators sleeping with someone they shouldn't have and needing to keep it covered. Stretching, she closed the file before her. She hadn't managed to keep her mind on a case since that day. Thick brown curls and sparkling blue eyes, the body of a walking sex god...all seemed to fill her every waking daydream and every dream. Squeezing her thighs, she sighed. This seemed to be an unavoidable habit whenever her thoughts turned to Thomas...or whatever his name actually was.

"Liv!"

Olivia's head turned toward the door as Quinn entered, a smile on her face. Olivia frowned. What did she have to look so triumphant about?

"Turn on the television. You did it!"

"Did what?"

"Turn on the television!"

Signing, Olivia held the remote toward the flatscreen, hitting the power button. Some news station filled her screen. There was always some news station on at OPA. Laying the remote back on her desk, she crossed her arms and listened as the anchors began speaking:

"President Grant has unexpectedly withdrawn support for House Bill 1637. We take you live to a press conference at the White House."

The camera switched to the familiar press room of the White House. This time, unlike so many others, though, Olivia's familiar red headed friend wasn't standing behind the podium. Instead, standing behind the podium was a face that caused Olivia's breath to hitch in her throat. Suddenly, she realised with horror, she knew why his face had seemed so familiar. Her one nightstand had been with the President. Barely did she register his words:

"A friend showed me the error of jumping to conclusions. Instead of taking unnecessary steps out of fear, it would be best to reevaluate our needs and move forward from an educated platform. I encourage Congress to table this bill and begin drafting a suitable replacement."

She watched as the camera switched back to the news anchors. Biting her lip, her hand hovered over the keys on her phone. Shaking her head, she decided to take the plunge. She had spent too much time running.

"Quinn, will you send an email to Cyrus Beene? Ask him to call me."

/

"Mr. President." Cyrus Beene entered the Oval Office, a look of triumph crossing his features.

Digging his hands into the soft leather armrests of his chair, Fitz slowly turned to look at his Chief Of Staff. The press conference had gone well. He didn't anticipate that Cyrus's visit was about that. He didn't know what Cyrus's visit was about and, honestly, wished the man would leave him in piece. He was having quite the daydream about a certain stunning woman he had met a week ago. He still felt bad about leaving her bright and early, sneaking out the door and into the arms of his ever watching security. But he hadn't wanted her to know who he was. For just one night, he had wanted to be someone other than the president.

"Yes, Cyrus?"

"Olivia Pope called. She wants to discuss working with the administration."

"The Olivia Pope?" Well that changed his mood. He had been trying to get Olivia Pope since he had first entered the White House. She was phenomenal from everything he had heard. Could tackle anything and come out on top. She had been steadily turning them down for two years now.

Cyrus slowly nodded, a grin on his face. Fitz shook his head, impressed. "Get her here as soon as you can. I'd like to meet with her before she has the chance to change her mind."

"I'm on it sir."

/

Olivia walked through the halls of the White House, Cyrus by her side. She tried to steady her breathing as she clutched the straps of her red Prada bag in her hands, knuckles turning white. She wasn't just meeting the President. She was meeting the only man in six years she had felt any connection to and the best damn lay she had ever experienced. Outside the door to the Oval Office, she took a deep breath. Waving Cyrus aside, she entered the office by herself.

Closing the door behind her, her breath caught in her throat when he turned to face her. His blue eyes showed an immense amount of shock before warming, fixing her with a mixture of shock, desire...and love? With shaky hands, she dropped her bag to the floor. Barely able to control her voice, she greeted him, using his given name for the first time. She had to smile at the way it rolled off her tongue. It just felt right.

"Fitz."

"Olivia."


	2. Mermaid

Mermaid

"_You're the president."_

"_You're the only woman who has ever told me no." His blue eyes twinkled, hand tucked away inside the blue pants of his suit and other resting on his thigh. One lock of curly brown hair hung over his eye, giving him just the hint of the disheveled playboy the media liked to paint him as. His white shirt, tucked into his pants, was unbuttoned enough to show just the tiniest bit of his dark chest hair. If at all possible, he looked even better this way than he had when she had first met him. The jeans and flannel were nice, but didn't do near the justice this suit was doing. Fighting the urge to squeeze her thighs together, who would have thought that after six years of celibacy, one week without sex would have her in such a wanton state, she licked her ruby red lips. _

"_I didn't tell you no a week ago," her low, seductive voice echoed throughout the room. She noted, with satisfaction, the growing bulge in his pants. Chest heaving and breathing becoming erratic, she crossed her legs in front of herself, digging the heels of her Louboutins into the carpeted floor. Her words had affected her almost as much as him. The feel of her cotton dress rubbing against her breasts through her white, lace lingerie had her almost panting as she imagined his hands and mouth replacing the fabric. She pulled at the Beijing printed bows on her sleeves, anything to distract her from the desire slowly pooling in her stomach and coating her thighs. _

_His deep chuckle emanated from his chest as his eyes travelled her body, noting the way she tried to discreetly rub her thighs together under the pleated, printed skirt she wore. Treading slowly across the carpeted room, like a predator stalking his prey, he stopped in front of her, invading her personal space. She breathed in the scent of his cologne - the scent that was so distinctly __**him**__ and tilted her head back, dark eyes searching his bright baby blues. Crow lines formed around his eyes, he laughed a lot she was sure. Had been sure since their one evening and night together a week ago. Placing a hand on her upper arm, he stroked her skin through the fabric of her white sleeves, bending his head to hers, lips hovering just above hers as he asked, "Are you here to accept my offer. Or was I right about those stalker tendencies?"_

_She giggled, shuddering when his hand moved to her hip, bunching her colourful skirt as he gripped her, pulling her closer still to him. They were close enough that she could feel his ever growing erection, rubbing against his length. He fought the urge to allow his eyes to flutter shut at the feelings of pleasure he was getting from her actions. Olivia moved her well-manicured hands to the waistband of his trousers, fingers gripping his belt loops. _

"_I thought about accepting your offer. You made a __**very **__convincing speech today." Slowly releasing his belt loop, she moved her hand around to the front of his pants. Boldness was new on her. Sure she could command a room just as well as any man, but to be so open in her touch? Her feelings? That just wasn't the Olivia Pope she used to be. But she was sick of ruined relationships and looking at a very real future of being left alone. This time, she would take what was hers at all costs. _

"_I had a friend outline all her ideas for me to steal," he chuckled, eyes clouding as her hand made contact with the bulge in his pants, gripping his straining dick. She began moving her hand over the fabric of his pants, dark eyes clouded with desire as he grew in her hand. _

"_I knew you were trying to steal my ideas." _

_His hands moved to the collar of her dress, nimble fingers slowly pushing the pearl button through the tiny hole at the base of her throat. She inhaled sharply while his hands inched slowly down the front of her dress, undoing the small, off-white buttons as he went, leaving her standing before him with the front of her dress open. The tiniest hint of white lace showed through her open dress before he moved his hands to her shoulders, pushing at the material until it was sliding down her arms, over her hands, and falling at her waist. Never did she think she would be standing in the Oval Office, in front of the president she __**loathed**__, wearing a thin, white lace bra that showed the smallest bit of her straining, hardened nipples. Or that she would be so __**turned on **__in this moment. _

"_You could work for me, you know. Then I wouldn't have to steal your ideas."_

_She hissed sharply when he moved his head to her breasts, running his tongue around her taut nipple, eyes focused on her flushed cheeks and pouty red lips, hands moving to the smooth, exposed skin of her waist when her knees began to buckle. Slowly and with purpose, he moved his mouth to her nipple, taking the sensitive flesh inside his mouth and biting gently, tugging through the lacy material. Stroking her waist, he slowly trailed one hand up her silky skin and to her other breast, stroking the skin just above her bra-line. Biting down on her nipple, he slipped his finger inside the lace of her bra, pulling on the fabric until it came down and tucking it underneath her exposed breast. His fingers fluttered across her now exposed skin, flicking her nipple before grasping it between his thumb and forefinger, pinching slightly. _

"_You'd still be stealing my ideas," she winked, panting hard as he kept his mouth over her breast, using his tongue to swirl around her nipple - flicking the hardened nub when she least expected it. With each move of his tongue, the starch lace rubbed enticingly against her nipple, sending shockwaves of pleasure to the pit of her stomach. She had long since given up on hiding what she was doing beneath her skirt and now rubbed her thighs together shamelessly as the tension in her stomach continued to build. Tightening his grip on her waist, fingers digging into her skin, he eased a leg between hers, groaning around her breast when she began rubbing against his leg. Moving her mouth to his shoulder, she bit down on the fabric of his white dress shirt, muffling her screams as she came hard, soaking her underwear. _

_Chest heaving as she came down from her high, she sighed when he removed his mouth and hand from her breasts. Hands gripping him for support, she allowed him to guide her backwards toward one of the white, striped sofas. She humphed when he backed her onto the sofa, gripping the back of the sofa as he fell over her and keeping the brunt of his weight off her petite frame. Using her arms to shove herself into a sitting position for a moment, she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, tossing the material to the floor. Never did she imagine having sex in the Oval Office. She almost laughed, rolling her eyes, at the sarcastic thought that her father would be proud. It almost made her want to pay Eli a visit...Shaking her head, her attention returned to the man hovering above her, yanking at her dress until it came freely down her legs. _

"_What do you say Olivia, do I get to steal your ideas?" he smirked, hooking two fingers inside her thong and pulling it down her legs, tossing it over his shoulder. Using his hands to spread her legs, he placed them on his shoulders, kneeling on the floor and settling between her legs. Moving a hand between her legs, he used one finger to trace her lips, leaving her to arch her back and cry out for more. With a glint in his eyes, he easily slid two fingers inside her soaking core and began pumping, placing his thumb on her clit, rubbing circles. Turning her head, she bit into the soft skin of her upper arm, muffling her screams and moans as he quickly brought her to another earth-shattering orgasm. _

_Easing her legs off his shoulders, he stood from between her legs. A pout graced her full lips when he shook his head no as she moved her hands to his leather belt. Running a hand through his brown curls, he stated, "I don't have a condom on me."_

"_I'm on the pill." She didn't know what had made her say it. It __**was **__true, but she still had never let any other man enter her without a protective barrier. Condoms weren't just about birth control and she knew that. But after the evening she had spent with Fitz, she felt like she knew him better than any other man she had been with and if he had some disease that he could pass to her, she knew he would speak up. _

_Conflicting looks passed across his face as he wrestled with his inner desire. The most beautiful woman he had ever met lay before him, her perfect body undressed and waiting. Yet he was battling voices in his head. Shaking his head from side to side, he moved his hands to his silver belt buckle. Pulling the black leather through the buckle, he slid the belt from his pants, tossing it to the floor. Unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, he shoved them, along with his boxers, to the floor. Her eyes widened as his dick, finally free, sprang forward. Biting her lip, she began to wonder just how he had managed to fit the first time 'round._

"_You sure?" He gave her time to reconsider, only moving forward and rubbing the tip of his dick against her wet folds when she nodded her head, not trusting her voice. Hissing sharply, her hands flew to his back, scratching his skin through the fabric of his shirt as he began sliding into her, inch by inch. Balls deep inside her, he gave her a moment to adjust before setting a quick, steady rhythm for the two. He slowed only once, giving her time to ride the waves of her orgasm, before wrapping his well-muscled arms around her and flipping them. Resting his back against the sofa, he moved his hands to her hips and helped her lift herself, slamming her pelvis back against his. When she stopped, placing her hands on his chest and swirling her hips, squeezing her vagina around his dick, he came - causing another orgasm to ripple through her body as he shot stream after steady stream of his hot seed. _

"_Ow," she groaned, leaning forward and resting her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes tight. Stars danced behind her eyelids as an indescribable pain filled her skull. She was just vaguely aware of him slipping out of her as he softened and his hand in her hair, stroking her locks. _

"_Shhh," he whispered as she continued to tighten her eyes, rolling her head around his shoulder in an attempt to rid herself of the sudden pain reverberating around her skull. _

"_Are you okay?" he asked. _

"_I've never gotten a headache during sex before." She turned her head, still resting against his shoulder, and opened her dark eyes. Twisting his head, he locked gazes with her, finger twisting a dark lock. _

"_We've gotten good at being each other's firsts," he winked. _

_She giggled, rubbing her smooth leg against his hairy one, melding her body against his. Bringing a hand to his chest, she played with the dark curls there. They hadn't taken the time to enjoy one another in the afterglow the first time. Both were too exhausted and had fallen asleep shortly after. Then, when she had woken in the morning, he had been gone. _

"_No." _

"_No?"_

"_I can't work for you." _

"_Why not?"_

_Laying her hand flat against his chest, she pushed herself up, leaning over his body. Hair fell into her eyes, framing her face and providing a barrier between the two of them and the rest of the room. "Because we can't do __**this **__if I'm working for you. I would gladly be a consultant, though, __**President **__Grant."_

"_That's so much sexier than I thought it would sound," he smirked, moving his hands to grip her hips, "I would have thought you would have recognised me at the bar, Ms. Pope." _

"_You look different when you aren't on tv," she stated, giggling when he flipped onto his back, using his strength to lift her body over his, holding her aloft as she moved her legs to straddle him. Rubbing against his growing arousal, she continued, "and when you aren't wearing suits. Or surrounded by your advisors or Secret Service. It's hard to recognise someone when they're trying __**not **__to be recognised."_

_And that was the end of that conversation. _

_/_

A flush covered Olivia's face as she sat in her office, reminiscing on how she had re-entered Fitz's life nearly three months ago. The familiar throbbing was returning, her eternal cause of unease when she was in her office in the White House. As much as she loved her new founded position of power, being this close to Fitz was driving her insane. The two were like newlyweds - christening every area of the infamous symbol of American democracy that they could. Gripping the leather arms of her chair, she rolled toward the end of her mahogany desk, placing her fingers on her keyboard.

Fitz had given her the airy office, adjacent to his Chief of Staff, after she had agreed to become a consultant. It had taken a whole month for her to move into the office - she took the decorative details of her offices _very_ serious. The summer sky blue walls, accented with wine red, were completely bare. She didn't hang pictures or portraits. She needed a clean, clear workspace for her ideas to flow. The lexington blue wood tile that covered the floor complimented the colours of the wall, brightening the room without much need from the white light pouring down from the ceiling. The L-shaped mahogany desk was the one point of darkness in the room. She had designed it that way. It was where she conducted business and it immediately drew attention. The champagne wax warmer in the corner filled the room with a warm, homey vanilla scent.

Typing in her password at the prompt on the computer screen, she moved a hand to the wireless mouse beside her keyboard, and began scrolling through her email. She didn't have many messages, but there were a couple from Cyrus flagged as important. Tapping on the first message from her old mentor, she chuckled at the subject line.

_Cyrus Beene | Olivia Pope_

This message was sent with High importance.

**Are you there Liv? It's me, Cyrus.**

**Liv,**

**If you're in the office today, would you mind grabbing a coffee with me around noon? Fitz wants me to start talks with some senators and congressmen about the Teachers With Guns bill and I could use your insight. **

**Also, we need to talk about...Well you know what we need to talk about. I won't write it in an email. **

**Let me know,**

**Cy**

Rolling her eyes, she tapped out a quick reply, accepting Cyrus's invitation and promising to meet him in his office later. Moving the cursor down on the screen, she opened Cyrus's other email.

_Cyrus Beene | Fitzgerald Grant | Olivia Pope | Abigail Wheelan _

This message was sent with High importance.

**Meeting in Oval**

**Fitz wants all of us to meet in the Oval around 16:00. Abby, we're going to work on another press release for the Teachers With Guns bill. Liv, we could really use your help on this one. Fitz wants to look into some options for shining the spotlight on the ones this bill would affect, too. So, if any of you could come up with some ideas before the meeting that would be awesome. And if for whatever reason you can't attend, just let me know. **

**See you then, **

**Cyrus Beene**

_White House Chief of Staff_

Scrolling through the rest of her emails, she quickly dismissed them for what they were - idle office gossip. The only one she didn't delete was an email about an upcoming retirement party for Sydney - Fitz's longtime personal secretary. Grabbing a black, ballpoint pen, Olivia wheeled her leather chair to the opposite side of the desk, reaching for the thick, brown-leather planner. Wrapping her hand around the supple leather, she opened the planner, flipping through the pages until she came to June. She jotted down the time of the retirement party on the tenth before closing the book and capping her pen. Digging her nails into the wood of the desk, she used her grip to propel her chair into motion, rolling back toward her computer. Laying a hand on the black receiver of her phone, she pulled it from its cradle and placed it against her ear, wincing as the receiver pushed her earring against her skin, the silver, metal post digging into the soft skin behind her ear. Dialing a 9, she was quick to enter the phone number for OPA.

"Thank you for calling OPA. How may I direct your call?"

Olivia chuckled at Quinn's tone. She could imagine the brunette sitting behind the receptionist desk, bored out of her mind. Quinn _hated _answering calls, but she was almost always the first to offer to cover Denise's break. Olivia had hired the young girl almost a year ago. OPA was getting too big to continue to operate without a receptionist.

"You sound lively."

"Do you know how many _stupid _calls I get a day? Yeah, you would be devising plans of torture, too."

"Stabbing people isn't good for business," Olivia sung in a high falsetto, "Is Huck around?"

"I think he's playing some game in his office. We've been dead today. I'll transfer you."

Olivia thrummed her sky-blue fingernails against the desk, humming along with the on-hold music that played as she waited for Huck. The soft click, interrupting the music for a second, let her know that Huck had acknowledged the call, but placed her on hold. Rolling her shoulders, the cracking and tightness fighting the motion, she began to sing along softly:

"_Listen baby, ain't no mountain high_

_Ain't no valley low_

_Ain't no river wide enough baby."_

"Were you singing?" Huck's surprised voice came across the line. Olivia snorted, her cheeks growing hot. Leaning back in her chair, crossing her legs and pulling at a piece of white lint that stuck out like a sore thumb against her red trousers, she countered:

"Were you playing video games?"

"You needed something?"

"We're trying to table this new bill in Congress. Anything you can dig up on the Senators most likely to vote for it, would be appreciated."

"I'll see what I can do. Your OPA email?"

"My OPA email."

"I'm on it, boss."

The line went dead. Olivia placed the receiver back in its cradle, placing her heeled foot on the floor and leaning forward in her seat to look at the time. _11:59. _Standing from her chair, she wobbled a bit on her heels. Twisting her mouth into a grimace, she shook her foot as a tingling sensation crept across it, feeling as if she were being pricked with thousands of tiny needles and dug her hands into the side of her desk to steady herself.

"Whoa," she breathed, kicking her foot a few times, the uncomfortable sensation finally fading. Straightening her white blazer, she decided to forgo any accessories and clicked across the floor to her office door. Hand on the brass knob, she twisted, bringing her wrist up to glance at the time on her Apple watch. She was going to be a few minutes late. Exiting the office, shutting the door behind her, she took the few steps across the hall to Cyrus's office. Standing outside the white door, she knocked loudly and waited.

Jumping at the sound of the door creaking open, Olivia took a step to the left and allowed a frowning aide exited the office. The young girl's heels thumped across the carpet as she walked heavily off in the opposite direction, her shoulders squared. Placing a hand on the wall, Olivia tilted her head back, watching the girl disappear around the corner. Crossing her arms under her chest, wincing at the tenderness of her breasts (Fitz was ever the rough lover), she raised her hand to the now open door, knocking against the wood as she stepped into the office.

Cyrus stood behind his oak desk, buttoning his grey suit jacket. His grey-white hair stood on end and his pudgy face was ruddy, forehead vein bulging. The wrinkles of his face seemed to have been etched deeper, as if some sculptor had angirly jabbed their riffler into the puddy of his face, going farther than necessary. Olivia frowned. Her friend didn't appear to be in the best of health.

"You okay with Starbucks?" Cyrus asked, the top drawer screeching as he opened it, retrieving his black, leather wallet and slipping it into his back pocket. His blue eyes softened as he looked at Olivia, worry lines fading just a silver. "I need some fresh air."

"Sure. Let me grab my purse."

"Don't worry about it. My treat." He rounded the corner of his desk, crossing the room in a few, great strides, and held his arm aloft at a 90 degree angle. Snorting, Olivia laid her hand on his elbow, allowing him to lead her from the room. He pulled the door too behind them, the lock clicking into place. Olivia's right hand made its way into the front pocket of her high-waisted trousers. The flared bottoms swayed back and forth as she and Cyrus strode down the halls.

"Rees, can you keep an eye on my office and Ms. Freeland while I'm out?"

The Secret Service agent nodded, holding the heavy front door of the White House open for Cyrus and Olivia. Outside, Olivia inhaled deeply, taking in the fragrant, sweet scent of the crabapple and magnolia blossoms that was carried toward them on a gentle breeze. The late spring sun hung bright in the sky, warming the grounds and air. Olivia brought a hand to her forehead, holding it horizontally over her eyes. The sound of hundreds of voices floated on the soft breeze, drawing Olivia's attention across the well-kept lawn and to the front gates. Tourists leaned against the black, wrought-iron gates - pointing and taking photos.

"We'll use the side gate."

"You don't want to meet your adoring fans?" Olivia teased, turning her body and taking the short detour with Cyrus that would lead them to the side exit.

"Something tells me they aren't all fans," Cyrus shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the fading front gates. Tall, dark green shrubbery blocked their view within moments, creating a cool, shadowed walking path that allowed Olivia to finally drop her hand.

"Something tells me few of them know who you are." She was ever the realist. There weren't a lot of people who knew the ones working behind the scenes. The ones who made the decisions. She preferred it that way. It was easy to sneak out when she wanted.

"Mr. Beene. Ms. Pope." The stainless steel booth door swung open and a tall woman in a dark black suit, gun on her hip, leaned against it. Olivia and Cyrus both slowed to a stop.

"How's it going Erika?" Olivia asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, pulling it free of her earring.

"It's boring. No one ever uses this entrance."

"Who'd you piss off to get stationed here?"

"I think Cyrus is jealous that I'm prettier than him." She made a show of tossing her head about, her short, blonde hair swaying.

"That's what I'm jealous of," Cyrus rolled his eyes, "You never called my sister back."

"She was a bitch."

"Fair enough," Cyrus chuckled, gesturing toward the gate, "You going to let us out? We have to be back to the big house by four."

"Oh alright, but only because keeping you hostage would be unethical." She entered the security booth, slamming the door behind her. They watched through the clear, bulletproof glass as she sat behind a computer, typing a command. Seconds later, the gate clicked, swinging open.

The two continued their trek down the sidewalk, out of the fenced property of the White House. Olivia was the first to reach for the badge hanging by a clip on the breast pocket of her blazer. Unclipping the black, metal piece, she pocketed her badge. Cyrus followed after, unclipping his badge from the belt loop of his pants and stuffing it into his deep pockets. No one needed to know who they were or where they worked.

The sun beat hot against their necks as they made the short, five-minute walk northwest down Pennsylvania Avenue. The inside of the Starbucks was cool, the air-conditioning buzzing in the background, but crowded. Writers sat scattered throughout the tiny coffee shop, typing furiously on their computers. Here and there were a few who appeared to prefer the old-school technique, their pens scratching against the paper in their notepads. Standing the back of the line, Olivia crossed her arms and began tapping her foot. Patience was a virtue. A virtue she did not have.

"Are you trying to write a new tune over there?" Cyrus chuckled, his eyes focused on the menu hanging above the baristas head.

"You're just going to order yours black anyway," Olivia shrugged, her foot slowing to a stop.

"And you're going to get some sugar-infused diabetic concoction."

"Awe. You know me so well." Olivia brought a hand to her heart, holding her chest as she pretended to be teary eyed. They attracted the attention of a few bystanders, but what did they care? This was their homecourt and they spent enough of their day being stuffy professionals. As the line inched forward, Cyrus leaned against the faux-wooden countertop, ordering his traditional black coffee and jabbing his thumb in Olivia's direction:

"And she'll have whatever has the most sugar."

"Ha-ha-ha. Can I get an iced vanilla coffee? Thank you."

Cyrus inserted his debit card in the card reader, cursing the new chip technology under his breath. He turned a deer-in-the-headlights look to Olivia when the barista asked for their names. Winking, Olivia raised her gaze to the purple-haired teen:

"Leia. That's Luke."

Giggling, the teen wrote in large, sloppy letters across the cups with her sharpie before passing them along to the other teen working with them. As they edged down the line to stop at the other end, the teen called to them:

"May the force be with you."

"We have everything we need," Olivia winked, turning her attention to the teenage boy handing her the cool, plastic cup of coffee. Condensation was already forming along the cup, wetting her hand. Rounding the counter, she sat the cup on the small lip before the straws, napkins, and additives. Reaching for a straw, she tapped it against the counter a few times before it began to peek its green head through the white paper covering.

"You are awesome," the teenage girl called down the line, a grin covering her face.

Olivia chuckled, pulling her straw free of the paper, tossing it into the small trash can, and jabbing the green plastic through the tiny hole of her cup. Closing her eyes, she hummed at the first sweet sip of her coffee, vanilla exploding against her taste buds. This was why she and Cyrus went to _this _particular branch. The others didn't make their coffee the same way.

"Inside or out?" Cyrus gestured with his cup, ever expressive with his hands.

"Out. It's too beautiful a day. And we have to be stuck in an office with Fitz later." She did her best to look annoyed, pressing her lips together and half-rolling her eyes. It was a short-lived moment. One she knew Cyrus would never fall for.

"Are you annoyed because Abby and I are going to be there, too?" Cyrus teased, blue eyes sparkling as his hand connected with the metal bar of the door.

"Why would I -?"

"He tells me everything, Liv. _Everything_," Cyrus's falsetto carried out the door as he shoved it open, stepping into the hazy outdoor air. Olivia was quick to follow, shouldering the door open and stomping across the sidewalk in her heels to catch up to her mentor.

"He didn't."

"No, he didn't, but seeing your reaction…" Cyrus shook his head, sipping his coffee and making a face at the bitterness. Still, he refused to use any kind of creamer or sugar. "Please tell me: what parts of the Oval should I refrain from touching?"

"Cyrus Beene!" Olivia's wide smile showed her straight, white teeth. For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with the man. Her cheeks hurt from the wide smile that refused to go away - smiling when she shouldn't was how she always dealt with her embarrassment. And right now, there was plenty of that.

A police siren drew their attention. The new, Dodge Charger sped past in a blur of white, blue, and red, sirens wailing. Olivia and Cyrus followed the car with their eyes as it turned a corner, disappearing from view. Other pedestrians who had stopped to watch the scene unfold began moving, shouldering their way past the two frozen White House workers.

"I'd stay off the sofas. And away from the desk."

She had a way of owning her embarrassment once she got over the initial shock. Now, it was her turn to be amused at Cyrus's expense. He frowned at his cup of coffee, curling his lip and closing his eyes. Running his tongue over his teeth, he opened his eyes to spare a glance her way, nose crinkled.

"Have you two never heard of a bedroom?"

"Sorry we just happen to be a little kinkier than you, Cy." Olivia patted Cyrus's shoulder, creases appearing around her eyes as she struggled to maintain her poker face throughout the condolent pat. Biting her lip, she spun on her heels, tapping down the sidewalk in direction of the White House. With a shudder, Cyrus caught up to her:

"I did _not _need that image in my head."

The pair shared a friendly laugh, Olivia tucking her hair behind her ear. It wouldn't stay for long - not with the wind blowing the way it was. Tilting her head to look at the sky, squinting at the bright sun, she watched dark clouds roll overhead, causing her to quicken her pace.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Cyrus was still leisurely following behind his friend, hand stuffed in his pocket and coffee gripped tight in the other hand. He followed Olivia's finger, pointing skyward.

"I don't want to get wet."

"I didn't think it was supposed to rain today."

"Me either."

Nearing the side entrance, Olivia and Cyrus pulled their badges from their pockets, clipping them back into place on their clothing. Erika poked her head out of the steel booth once they passed through the iron gate:

"You guys got back just in time. Nasty storm's getting ready to blow through."

"Are you going to be okay in there?" Olivia called, hair whipping around her face as the wind began to pick up. The sky darkened by the minute, deep rumbles of thunder shaking the ground from not too far away.

"I'll be fine. You two should probably hurry back to the big house, though." She waved them off, slamming her door behind her and returning to the computer monitor tucked into the corner.

Lightning flashed across the sky and rain began to fall in large, heavy sheets as the two friends crossed the threshold into the White House. Turning in the hall, they peered through the door, unable to see much further than the large, white pillars at the entranceway. Rees slammed the door as a northern wind began pushing the rain into the foyer.

"Looks like no one's going anywhere for a while," Reese whistled, edging to the window on the left and peering out.

"Keep an eye on the weather. Radio me if it gets worse." Cyrus placed a hand on Olivia's back, guiding her down the hall. Inside his office, Cyrus sat heavily in his leather desk chair, Olivia taking a seat across from him in a soft, grey leather chair.

"You've been refreshingly unjudging of Fitz and me." Olivia leaned forward in her seat, her hand cocked back, eyes judging the distance from her seat to the trash can behind Cyrus's desk. Pulling her arm back further, she slung it forward, releasing the cup and watching as it flew into the silver, metal can. Cyrus was quick to duck, following the cup's trajectory with untrusting eyes until it landed.

"He's suddenly dedicated to his job again. That's all I care about."

"Is it?" Olivia tilted her head, twisting her lips into a half-smile. Curling her hands around the arms of the chair, digging her nails into the soft leather covering, she levelled him with a challenging stare.

Leaning his head against the back of his leather chair, eyes raised toward the white ceiling, his lips curled downward in a frown and he crossed his arms:

"Two of my closest friends are happy. What would I possibly have to complain about?"

/

"Hello, hello." Cyrus was the last to enter the Oval Office at precisely four pm. Thudding across the carpet, he stopped in front of the striped sofa Abby was reclining on across from Olivia and Fitz. Shaking his head, he eyed the abandoned desk chair behind Fitz's desk. Laying his heavy, black leather planner on the wooden table, beside the crystal decanter and glass set, Cyrus walked heavily to the rolling desk chair.

"Are you afraid to sit beside Abby?" Fitz called, tilting his head as Cyrus rolled the chair toward the group. Stopping in between the two sofas, Cyrus flopped into the leather chair, cursing as it bounced back and forth with the momentum from his fall.

"Olivia and I had an eye-opening conversation over coffee where I learned it's best to avoid certain furniture in this room." Cyrus reached for the button of his suit jacket, slipping it through the tiny hole and tossing both flaps to the side.

"She's opened my eyes a few times as well," Fitz winked, resting his ankle against his knee and tapping his finger on his leg.

"Am I missing something?" Abby tilted her head, her red hair brushing against the blue of her suit jacket. Her green eyes flashed, hands clasped onto the planner balanced on her lap. When Olivia shook her head, her eyes falling to the blue carpet, Abby narrowed her eyes and raised a perfectly sculpted red brow. Olivia was hiding something.

"About this press conference…" Cyrus nodded in Olivia's direction at her mouthed 'thank you'. Red was on the verge of performing a full Spanish Inquisition on her friend and, for the sake of the current work environment, Cyrus was _not _going to let that happen.

"Another ironclad denunciation from the President. No support is coming from the White House and Congress will do good to remember that." Abby ruffled through the papers in her planner, producing a white sheet with the White House's seal on the top. Passing the paper to Fitz, she chewed on her short nails as he scanned the text on the page.

"Go ahead and release it." He leaned forward, stretching his arm across the narrow space between the sofas toward Abby. The redhead grasped the paper, shoving it back into her planner.

"I have a few options for you. One option is to meet with teachers who are opposed to the bill. We can televise the event. The other option…"

Fitz twisted in his seat, attention now focused entirely on Olivia who began to squirm under his ocean blue gaze. She was never hesitant to present to him. That meant she didn't like what she had to say. Lifting a finger to his face, he rested his thick index finger against his chin, listening intently to what she had to say.

"We can do an interview with intercity kids. It won't be private. We'll have reporters everywhere exposing these kids to some tough questions."

"Let's see how talking to the teachers works in our favour first." His decision was quick, effective. Everything he had a reputation for being since first occupying the White House. He knew why she was hesitant to suggest this now - only a monster would put kids in front of a camera or television monitor in a bid to get their way. Even if this was going to affect this kids, it wouldn't be right to force them to be open to the ridicule and cruel things people could (and _would_, to be honest) say.

"I'll work with your detail to iron out all the wrinkles. We should be ready to go by the end of the week." Cyrus opened the planner on his lap, using a ballpoint pen to make a few marks.

"Anything else?" Fitz clapped his hands, placing his foot on the floor and leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

"The state dinner next week."

"I thought we had all the kinks worked out."

"We do," Cyrus adjusted his tie, throwing a half-smile toward Olivia, "I was wondering if you would be bringing a date."

"I'm working on that."

Olivia could feel a blush forming as the two men bantered about her love life. The continous stare from Abby wasn't helping her state as she tried desperately to bury her head in her planner.

"Is this really an appropriate conversation, Mr. President?"

"You tell me _Miss _Pope."

Damn that man and the way he was looking at her, blue eyes travelling the length of her body slowly undressing her. His hand, to the outsider appearing to rest comfortably between the two on the sofa, was gently stroking her outer thigh with its pinky. Everything about him exuded sex. Even the way he had said her name - sultry and with the promise of _something_ more.

With a deep, shaky breath, she attempted to turn the tables once more, "I thought we were discussing this bill that you promised would not pass."

"And I can't go making false promises, now can I?" His wink was everything but innocent, his hand inching ever so closer to her thigh. She was grateful she had decided on a pantsuit. Skirts and dresses were becoming dangerous around the president. Not that he wasn't capable of talking her out of her pants just as well as he did her dresses…

The long meeting seemed to drag on for hours. All four were talkers, especially when they had the opportunity to show off. Abby especially had suddenly shown the gift of gab with Olivia's addition to the team. Where she had been quiet at first, afraid to contradict the president and his often at odds point of view, she had taken a cue from Olivia and now spoke, in a respectful way, of her differing opinion. Learning that Fitz had changed his mind on the latest congressional bill had put a new amount of hope in her mind. Maybe there was hope for him after all.

By the time the two ladies were walking out of the office, it had grown dark outside. Outside the Oval, Abby linked arms with Olivia, her planner tucked underneath her free arm. It had been quite some time since she and her friend had had any sort of girls' night. She was looking to change that.

"You have plans for tonight?"

Olivia bit her lip, thinking of Fitz. She didn't spend much time at her apartment anymore. There was always an excuse to spend the night in Fitz's bed and, as good as the sex was, she didn't mind missing her apartment. Cyrus had stayed behind, though, and as much as she wanted to, she wasn't going to barge into the Oval. She also wasn't going to lurk around her office like some love-stricken teenager waiting on Fitz to finish whatever he and Cyrus were doing.

"None. Girls' night?"

"You read my mind," Abby's pink lips curled into a smile, "I'll grab my purse, lock up my office, and meet you at my car? You didn't drive did you?"

"No. My apartment?"

"Sure thing."

The two parted ways at the dividing hallways to their offices. Abby went right and Olivia went left. It didn't take Olivia long to grab her purse, log off her computer, and lock her planner in the bottom right drawer of her desk. She locked the office door on her way out, saying goodnight to the Secret Service agents she passed on her way to the parking garage. Abby was already behind the steering wheel of her blue Prius, hands tapping against the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song she had playing. Abby was a music junkie. She listened to anything and everything she could get her hands on. Unfortunately, she also thought she was a singer much to Olivia's chagrin. The woman couldn't carry a tune in the proverbial bucket if her life depended on it.

Opening the door, frowning at the squeaking sound that reverberated throughout the garage, Olivia slid into the warm vehicle. She propped her bag at her heeled feet, reaching for the seatbelt by the door and pulling it over her body. Abby waited for the click of the seatbelt before she put the car in drive.

Inside Olivia's apartment, the women kicked their shoes off by the wooden door. Abby was first to jump into the soft, white cushions of Olivia's sofa, propping her feet on the metallic coffee table. Remote in hand, she channel surfed as she waited for Olivia to return from the kitchen. Settling on a tv show, she wasn't home long enough to watch tv most of the time and the title at least sounded interesting on this one, Abby turned her head to the right when Olivia entered the spacious living room. Placing a clear, glass bowl full to the brim with popcorn and a bottle of red on the table, Olivia fell into the sofa beside Abby.

"Can we not watch this?"

"What's wrong with it? I haven't seen any of it."

"Me either, but that guy looks like Jake." Olivia shuddered, reaching for the remote that was on Abby's lap. She frowned at the title. Whiskey Cavalier? Really? Scrolling through the channels, she stopped at Grey's Anatomy - her go to comfort show.

"When were you going to tell me you have a crush on the president?" Abby's mouth was full of popcorn, her hand dangling in the bowl that she had moved to her lap. Olivia tilted her head, eyeing her friend.

"Huh?"

"You were so giving him the I want to fuck you look during that meeting."

"I was not."

"You were and don't worry - he was giving you that look, too. You could definitely get some if you wanted to."

Olivia shook her head, turning her attention to the flatscreen. They were starting at the beginning. Meredith was in the middle of what looked to be a very heated discussion with Bailey. Unable to focus on the show (who was she kidding? She couldn't lie to her best friend), Olivia turned in her seat, propping one leg on the sofa as she faced Abby.

"I'm kind of already _getting_ some."

"What?" Abby nearly sent the popcorn flying off her lap as she squealed, green eyes opened wide. Moving the bowl to the table, she scooted closer to Olivia, hands on her knees:

"Tell me everything."

"Abby…"

"Seriously! What's he like in bed?"

"If I answer that you have to promise to never mention this," Olivia groaned, leaning her elbow against the back cushions, holding her head in her hand.

"Promise."

"I can legitimately say I never craved dick before him. I feel like we fuck all the time and it's not enough."

"Oh damn," Abby wolf-whistled, "So is he…?"

Olivia giggled at Abby's question. Her friend had taken to waving her hand, palm down, as a wand before her pelvis.

"He's certainly not small. I honestly didn't think he would fit at first."

"Well, I'm jealous."

Olivia scrunched her nose, dark eyes widening as she looked at her friend. "You aren't…?"

"No. I don't have a crush on Fitz. But I'm not getting any. David wants to wait."

"He wants to wait?"

"And that was my reaction," Abby shrugged at Olivia's gasp, her hand gently smacking her forehead, a loud skin-against-skin sound echoing in the room. "More wine?"

/

"You're happy," Cyrus observed, twirling the amber coloured liquid in his class, ice cubes clinking against one another.

"Olivia's given me a new perspective on things." Fitz sipped at his liquor, leaning against the glass of the Oval Office, staring out at the spattering of stars in the sky.

"She's make a good First Lady. Better than Mellie."

"I don't want to talk about Mellie."

Cyrus nodded. Mellie was a sore topic with both of them. She had been so promising at the beginning - the perfect wife to help lead Fitz to victory in the Republican Party. Someone who could play her part and promote Fitz as a loving, caring family man. She had the wit, the beauty, the social charm. In the end, though, she didn't have the guile. Her affair with Fitz's then security had been caught by a whole host of reporters. Some magazines had even attempted to blackmail the White House. A cheating First Lady was all they needed to dominate the news industry. So, Fitz let them dominate on Cyrus's advice. Even the Republican Party had called for divorce after Mellie's affair went public and Fitz hadn't lost any points with the public. It was a win-win for the president.

"Just don't hurt her," Cyrus mumbled, staring into his glass. He wasn't one to speak up in such a manner, but Olivia was like a daughter.

"I have no intentions of doing so." Fitz turned around to face the older man, leaning his back against the windows. "I want to take her on a date, Cyrus."

"That's almost impossible, sir."

"I know that. Any ideas?"

"You might be able to plan something for the grounds. I can't guarantee the public or media won't somehow catch wind."

Fitz sighed, his shoulders heaving, and downed the rest of his drink. "I haven't talked to her about going public, yet."

"If I know Olivia, which I do, I would suggest that you mention it to her soon. She doesn't like to be blindsided."

Fitz nodded, walking heavily across the room to the table at the edge of the sofa. Uncapping the decanter, he poured himself some more scotch. Popping the crystal stopper back into place, he raised the glass to his lips and drank heavily. Stuffing a hand into his pocket, he called out to Cyrus as the man was edging toward the door, his still full glass already sitting on the table by the sofa:

"Is she still here?"

"I can check."

"Don't worry about it. If she is, she'll find me."

Watching the president turn toward the windows, staring out into the dark abyss, Cyrus took a deep breath. The presidency was weighing heavily on this man. He loved it - that much he had confessed and his recent attitude showed a willingness to throw himself into the job, but sometimes it made his life more complicated than he would like. Taking pity on Fitz, Cyrus called as he was leaving the office:

"I'll think of something for you. You'll get to take her on that date eventually."

_**A/N - I am extremely nervous about posting this. Your reviews have made me both smile and cry and I have continuously doubted myself while creating an outline for this story and writing this chapter. Thank you for the kind words. - Gabi. **_


	3. She's On Fire

"You know, it would be bad form for the president to arrive at his own dinner dateless." His whispered suggestion broke the silence of the darkened room. Thankful for the new moon and its lack of reflective properties, she kept her gaze on the ceiling as an amused smile spread across her lips.

"_Your _dinner? I was under the impression that state dinners were in honour of the visiting foreign head of state." She sunk further into the soft mattress, pulling the soft, red covers to her chin. The low humming of the air conditioning filled the room and the blasts of cool air coming from the vent above the king-sized bed caused goosebumps to scatter across her skin. The mattress dipped under her as he shifted his weight, turning onto his side and propping his head in his hand, elbow sinking into the goosefeather pillow.

"You're deflecting."

She could imagine the smirk that was most definitely playing across his sculpted lips. He was a man who wasn't afraid to call her out on her bullshit. She needed that. For all her talk of change and wanting to make this work, she sure had a way of falling into old habits. It was just in her nature.

"I'm scared." Admitting her fears was new. Despite the pounding in her chest, that unfamiliar accelerated heart rate at a time of rest and the sudden clammy palms, her tone was neutral. She wasn't one to allow her voice to waver. Sliding her palms along the top of the covers, trying to wipe away what she could of the tiny sweat droplets lining her hands, she swallowed hard.

"Is being with me scary, Livvie?"

Despite her emotions, she found herself laughing. The deep, throaty giggle filling the room. Leave it to him to turn this into a joking matter. Turning onto her side, she kicked her legs along the mattress, aiding her actions of scooting across the mattress. When there was no room left between their bodies, she placed her elbow on his pillow near his own elbow and rested her head in her hand. They were close enough that she could make out the outline of his nose and chin in the darkened room. Close enough that their breaths were mingling in the air between them and the scent of his Tom Ford cologne assaulted her nostrils. The warm, comforting tobacco smell mixed with spices, enough to make her long for a sunny day surrounded by rows of green, leafy tobacco plants and fresh-plowed fields although she had never spent a day of her life on a farm, flooded her senses.

"You aren't the scary part of this equation."

He laid his large hand on her hip, drumming his thick fingers against her, the blush, satin material of her feminine boxer shorts sliding beneath his fingers. It was a miracle that her clothes had made it this long in his bed.

"The media? You wouldn't face them alone."

"Can I have time to think about it?" It wasn't a yes. It wasn't a no, either. She was being honest with him. Open. There was a lot to consider and, being Olivia, she wasn't going to jump headfirst into what had the potential of being extremely stormy waters.

"Two days, seventeen hours, and fifty-five minutes."

His gravelly voice echoed off the walls. She almost wished there was some hint of light in the dark room. Anything to see the bemused smile on his face. He was giving her an ultimatum - she knew that without it having to be explicitly stated. She had until the moment he was expected to walk into his dinner to give an answer.

"Make me _want _to say yes." It was simple - she craved romance. It wasn't something she had, in her thirty-some years of life, ever been on the receiving end of. Edison had been...Edison. She was the other half of his perfect equation - only there to look pretty on his arm, to be his trophy wife while he blazed a path through Washington. Then there had been Jake. Mediocre in his life and medicore in bed. Forever blacklisted from her own life.

"I can _make _you say yes all night long."

A sliver of desire shot through her body at his words. He always had that effect on her and he damn sure could (and she would be kidding herself if she didn't think he would - if only to prove a point) have her saying that very word on repeat. His fingers slowly trailed from her hip to the band of her boxer shorts, slipping just inside her band and rubbing her soft skin. Rolling onto her back, she dropped her head to the pillow, hair spilling across the red satin. Slowly, he slid his hand further into her shorts, rubbing across the silky panties she had on. A gasp left her lips at the first feel of his fingers pressing against her centre through her panties. Resting his forehead against hers, his soft curls brushing against her skin, he stared into her eyes as he began moving his fingers against her.

"Fitz." Her skin was buzzing, sensitive to every little brush of his body against hers. The tightening in her nipples was almost painful, the hardened nubs straining for attention. Her silky top, rubbing against her breasts, and the feel of his fingers pressing against her clit, rubbing vigorously with her silk underwear added a cool friction that she wasn't used to. Struggling against his hands and moving her head away from his, she raised herself just enough to begin unbuttoning her pyjama top - fingers shaky and unsteady as Fitz refused to slow his movements. Only when she had tossed her top across the room, too preoccupied to watch it float listlessly in the air for a moment before slowly drifting to the floor, did he take a moment to glance at her uncovered torso.

"Fuck." His strangled whisper filled the room and a coy smile played across her lips. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she lifted her arm, placing her hand on her breast. His blue eyes darkened when she rubbed the side of her thumb across her nipple, her mouth falling into an 'o' at the sensation.

"Oomf." She was surprised when he suddenly withdrew his hand from her, pulling it from her shorts. He placed his lips against hers, sucking softly on her bottom lip. Ending their kiss, he slid down her body, taking special effort to avoid her chest, and placed warm, wet kisses over her abdomen. She bit her lip when he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her boxer shorts, sliding them and her underwear down her toned legs. After tossing her clothing over his shoulder, he hooked his hands under her knees, pulling her legs apart. She whimpered in anticipation when he placed her legs on his shoulders and settled on the mattress.

"Don't stop touching yourself." His gruff command had her squirming as he moved his lips, his wonderful lips, to her thigh - dragging his warm, wet tongue up her leg. His blue eyes didn't leave her chest, though, and, with a smirk, she decided to put on quite the show just for him. Her dark eyes fluttered shut for a moment when she skimmed the pads of her thumbs across her hard nipples. Using her thumb and index fingers, she pinched her hardened nubs, twisting her sensitive peaks. The slight pain mixed with the pleasure of his mouth connecting with her core had her writhing on the bed.

"Fuck," she groaned, her hands leaving her chest and finding their way to his hair as his tongue swirled around her clit, lips pursing while he suckled her. Biting her lip, she frowned when he pulled away.

"Huh-uh." His large hand grasped her smaller ones, tugging until she let go of his silky strands of hair. "Keep your hands to yourself."

Nodding, her hands moved back to her chest, twisting and flicking at her nipples. Her back arched when his mouth returned to her clit, his afternoon stubble tickling her smooth, shaved skin. Hands stilling, all she could do was grip her generous breasts, fingers sinking into her skin, when he pushed two, thick fingers into her. Gradually, her legs fell apart even wider as he brought her to the edge. With a loud shriek, she came around his fingers, her head falling back to the pillow.

"Mmm-mmm," she cried out, legs jerking as he continued licking her sensitive clit. She was always over sensitive afterwards and his continued ministrations nearly brought her to tears. Sighing in relief when he finally pulled away, her chest rose with each heavy breath. Scooting backwards on his stomach, he placed his feet on the floor. Boxers flew across the room and she planted her feet firmly against the mattress, legs spread wide.

"Fuck!" He entered her with one quick roll of his hips - her soaking core offering little resistance. She gripped his arms tight, his muscles straining as his hands dug into the mattress. A frown crossed her face when he pulled out of her, backing away. Whimpering, she watched him lean down and run his tongue over her folds before tapping her hip.

"Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn. Around."

Arms shaking, she pushed herself into a sitting position, fire burning in the pit of her stomach at his gruff command. There was something about his commanding dominance in the bedroom that made her knees weak. Turning around, she rested her weight on her forearms. Cheek against the sheets and back arched, she cried out when he entered her from behind. One hand digging into her hip, he caressed her ass with the other. _Slap. Slap. _

"Fuck!" She screamed when his hand connected with her round bottom. The pain, mixed with the indescribable pleasure of his dick sliding in and out of her, was her undoing. She heard him grunting and felt his fingers digging into her skin as her pussy pulsated around his thick, veiny cock. It was the roughest he had been with her, yet, and if she were being honest - she wanted more.

"You're so fucking tight." His open-mouthed kisses trailing down her spine had her shivering as he resumed his brutal pace. Hips jerking and thrusts becoming more and more erratic and uneven, she knew he was close. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes - her mouth biting onto the bed sheets as loud, wet slapping sounds filled the room accompanied by his groans. "Come for me one more time, baby."

Legs and arms shaking, she screamed out when one of his strong arms snaked around her waist and his hand instantly went between her legs. Warm, sticky wetness coated his fingers as he rubbed her clit in tandem with his hard thrusts. She felt the coil tightening in her stomach once more and, just as his hips quit jerking and she was greeted by the hot, sexy feeling of his cum between her thighs, it broke. Exhausted, she fell to the bed with Fitz's head resting between her shoulder blades.

/

"What's this?" Olivia stood with her arms crossed, the gentle summer breeze tugging at the bottom of her baby pink, Alexander McQueen crêpe minidress. White, puffy clouds filled the brilliant blue sky above and birds could be heard singing in the distance. At Olivia's feet, a large red and black plaid blanket covered the well-manicured lawn. A wooden, woven basket sat on one corner and Dutch style champagne bucket stood on another corner with a bottle chilling.

"This is our first date." Fitz's grin was childish, his hands tucked into the pockets of his blue dress pants. Olivia had come to learn that was a habit of his when he was nervous. Nervous about what, she wasn't sure.

Lips curling upwards, she placed a well-manicured hand on his arm and kissed his cheek - a task made easier by the strappy, white wedges she wore. Resting her head against his chest, she took in her surroundings. The tall, leafy trees created a wall of green that protected them from the crowds of people that usually lingered around the White House - and the nosy photographers that somehow managed to get photos of _everything_. The White House itself was behind them, visible in the distance. He had warned her that it would be quite a walk.

"It's perfect."

She allowed him to help her to the ground, resting her legs gracefully to her side as she settled on the soft blanket. Her eyes followed his form, absolutely delicious in his tight pants and white, rolled up sleeves, as he moved about the picnic basket. Pulling two tall, skinny flutes from the basket, he sauntered to the champagne bucket. Firmly easing the cork from the bottle, she jumped slightly at the hiss of the cork releasing. The sound of bubbles chattering reached her ears as he filled both glasses to the halfway mark. He sat his atop the unopened side of the picnic basket while hers, he handed to her - fingers lingering against hers.

Bringing the glass to her lips and sampling the champagne, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes at the first feel of the crystalline pearls exploding across her tastebuds. The subtle fruitiness of the champagne lingered on her tongue long after she had settled her glass on the blanket beside her. Licking her lips, she slowly opened her eyes and peeked at what Fitz was doing. He had kicked off his brown oxfords and was treading across the blanket toward her in blue socks, a covered dish in his hands.

"This smells good." Extending her arms, she took the warm, metal dish. A sweet, buttery scent wafted to her nostrils as she placed the dish before her on the blanket. He returned seconds later with a dish of his own - his champagne flute in one hand and two forks balancing precariously atop the metal lid of his dish. Gracefully, he lowered himself to the blanket beside her, crossing his legs. She plucked a fork from his dish and lifted the lid on hers. The sweet scent of peaches, butter, and cinnamon filled the air as her uncovered dish revealed a warm, crispy brown cobbler.

"What do you think?" He was busy uncovering his own dish, resting his champagne flute beside his leg, and balancing his fork in his mouth. Digging his fork into his cobbler, he held the piece in the air - finally turning his blue gaze to her and watching as she brought her own fork to her mouth, wrapping her lips around the sweet morsel and moaning at the explosion of tastes in her mouth.

"Amazing."

"A little birdie told me this is your favourite." He finally put his food in his mouth.

"Cyrus." It wasn't a question. There was only one man at the White House who had knowledge of her favourite sweets - or the fact that she liked sugar a little _too _much. Fitz's deep chuckle accompanied by a head nod told her that she had been correct in her assumption. It brought a smile to her lips. She admired Cyrus. He had long been her mentor and her first point of contact in Washington. She didn't _need _his seal of approval to be with Fitz, but it sure was nice having it.

"So...our first date." Olivia scraped the bottom of her dish, licking the last of the tasty peach concoction from her fork before placing it and the lid in the dish. Placing her hands on the blanket behind her, she leaned backwards and studied his face. His eyes had crinkled at her remark, crow's feet showing themselves. He laughed. A lot. It was one of the things she had grown to like about him.

"Probably should have come before all the sex." His lips curled into a smirk, hands shoving his dish away. Placing one of his hands between hers, he leaned his body toward her - his champagne flute in his other hand. Biting her lip, she watched as he placed his lips against the glass's rim and drank deeply.

"Nothing comes before the sex."

"Not true. Sometimes you do."

"Fitzgerald!" Olivia choked on the champagne she had just drank. A bit of the bubbly liquid trickled down her chin. Wiping furiously with her hand, she coughed a few times. She had long given up any hopes of being cool, calm, and collected in his presence. Shaking her head, a strand of her hair flew into her eyes. Before she had a chance to raise a hand, his warm, calloused fingers were brushing against her forehead - moving the piece of hair behind her ear.

"You should wear your hair like this more often."

Her heart fluttered as she looked at him. None of the other guys in her less than perfect relationships had liked her natural hair. Even Edison would complain when she wore her hair naturally. It would hurt his image. Make it more difficult to gain all the right connections. Distract from their perfect, cookie-cutter image that he had cultivated. God she had been thrilled to ruin his run for the Senate with well-placed evidence of his cheating - even if it had broken her heart at the time.

"Maybe I should wear it like this for the state dinner." She rested her forehead against his, eyes staring into his ever darkening blues. He was turned on. But so was she.

"Maybe you should." Eyes drifted to her full lips before he closed what little distance there was left between them and placed his mouth atop hers. Drawing her bottom lip between his teeth, he sucked on her soft, supple lip until she was moaning into his mouth. His tongue swept across her teeth, the taste of champagne and peach cobbler lingering. Without a thought, her hands were on his shoulders and she was lifting her body to straddle his lap. His large hands found their way to her ass, gripping her as she moved her hips, grinding herself against his straining cock. Breathing heavily, she pulled away and rested her forehead against his, her hips still twirling above him.

"This is why we can't go into public." She chuckled against his mouth, running her tongue along his closed lips until he finally opened them to her. The feel of his hand moving between her legs and fingers hooking under the thin, rose-coloured string of her thong, tugging it between her ass, brought her back to her senses. They were in a secluded section of the lawn, yes, but there would always be the possibility of some paparazzo getting a shot. And what a shot they would get, too, if they had managed to get anywhere near the couple at the moment. The president sitting cross-legged on a plaid blanket and one of the prominent members of Washington society grinding against him. Embarrassed as she was at the possibility of getting caught, the thought of how she must look on Fitz's lap, legs splayed on either side of him, only soaked her panties more.

"If you didn't jump me all the time, woman." His chest rumbled as he laughed, placing soft kisses against her nose.

"I'm addicted." She shrugged, moving her head to his neck. Giving him hickeys was a talent she had recently discovered and man did she love marking him. It was a subtle way of laying claim to him and were the news stations ever eating it up. Speculation was running wild over President Grant's mystery woman.

"I don't know if I can date a sex addict."

Raising her head, her mouth inches from his ear, she whispered: "Even if your dick is the only one I think about?"

If it was even possible, she felt him harden beneath her - poking incestantly into her drenched centre. Suddenly, an idea hit her. Hands reaching between their bodies, she was quick to unbutton and unzip his pants. Reaching inside the blue dress pants, her hand closed around his hard dick. His eyes fluttered shut as she worked him out of his pants and boxers.

"Baby?" His strangled voice was barely audible.

"Just trust me," she huffed, rubbing her finger across his tip. He tilted his head back, groaning loudly. He was sensitive there and she took full advantage of that knowledge whenever she needed to. Using one hand to push her thong to the side, she rocked back on her knees, giving her enough room to line him up with her throbbing core. "Keep your hands on my thighs and hold my dress down."

"Naughty."

"Horny," she corrected, biting her lip as she slid down his hard member. Thick and long, he stretched her - filling her to the brim. Her breath was hot and heavy against his face as she bucked her hips. This was going to be fast - she could feel it. Resting her hands against his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, she twirled her hips. If anyone saw them, they would definitely be judged. But, at least, they would think she was giving him a lapdance at the most.

"You're so fucking wet."

"I always am around you."

Her orgasm took her unaware. Mouth falling open, her forehead crashed against his (causing bruises they would both laugh about later), and her thighs tightened against his. Wave after wave of euphoria crashed around her, completely soaking his pants. He didn't care - he could change later. Although that was the farthest thing from his mind as the feeling of her squeezing his dick triggered his own release.

"That was some first date." She laid across his chest, head resting on his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around her, stroking her back. They had managed to use what little energy they had left to fix their clothing before resting against the soft blanket and hard ground on their backs. Laying beside one another hadn't lasted for long before Olivia had rolled over, draping her body across his.

"The best first date." He yawned, eyes fluttering shut. As his soft snores began to fill the air around them, she pecked the corner of his mouth. Scooting down his body, she rested her head against his chest and allowed her own eyes to slowly close - the even rise and fall of his chest lulling her into a comatose state.

/

"Wow."

She could feel a blush rising to her cheeks, causing her skin to burn and tingle. Tilting her head, her lips spread into a wide grin. When she had told that man she wanted romance… His eyes didn't leave her body. Even leaning against the doorframe, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his black tux, the darkness in his blue eyes alluded to something other than relaxation. It took her breath away. No one had looked at her that way. No one had given her a look that so clearly stated she was theirs. And normally, she wouldn't be okay with that. She was Olivia Pope. Strong, confident, independent Olivia Pope. With him, though, she could be all those things and more.

"You approve?" Arching her perfectly sculpted brow, hand wrapped around the smooth, gleaming wooden railing, she slowly navigated the remaining stairs. The black, four-inch heels weren't the tallest in her collection, but coupled with the floor-length gown she was wearing, it made her descent a little treacherous. It didn't help that he was staring at her like he wanted to rip the white, Calvin Klein gown from her body right there and then. She felt her knees buckle, her fingers digging into the soft wood, knuckles turning white as she struggled to remain upright. The things that man could do to her with only a look.

As if sensing her struggle, he pulled his hands from his pockets while shoving away from the solid doorframe. Long legs propelled him the short distance over the worn carpet and up the stairs. Stopping on the stair below her, he wrapped his muscular arm around her back, eyes widening in surprise as his fingers brushed against the silky smooth flesh of her bare back. Rubbing his thumb against her exposed side, his warm skin always welcome against her cool flesh, he slowly led her down the stairs. Without much thought, she had laid her head against his shoulder, the smell of honey drifting to his nose from her perfectly slicked back bun. Lost in her own world, she pouted when he stopped at the bottom of the staircase, hand lingering on her side. Brushing his nose against her cheek, his breath was warm against her face as his lips began moving, whispering:

"I approve."

His husky voice sent chills down her spine and her cheeks burned once more. Hand still lingering on her back, long graceful fingers rubbing against her side, they began the short trek from one staircase to the set of double doors separating them from the rest of the dinner party.

"I want to introduce you to my kids."

She exhaled sharply. His comment was unexpected. Three months together and they hadn't mentioned meeting his kids one time. She knew the older two were in boarding school and that the youngest, Teddy, stayed with his mom. She wasn't aware of their custody agreement other than knowing that the kids didn't stay with Fitz often and he tried to schedule their visits around his other state visits and trips.

"I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"You'll think about it?"

She nodded. _That_ she could do. She wasn't the maternal type and had never pictured herself with children. That was before fate had thrown this beautiful man her way. Eventually, she was going to have to make the effort. Even if the thought of meeting his children terrified her more than walking into the state dinner had. She didn't know what she would do or what it would mean if his kids didn't like her.

"I'll think about it."

Taking smaller steps, he matched his usually long, quick gait to her slower one. Even with her heels, his height dwarfed her and she struggled to keep pace with him. At the closed double doors, they stopped. The two agents flanking the doors, dressed in their ever present black suits, stood with their hands clasped behind their backs and their eyes focused on the wall before them.

"Are you ready?" He was giving her a chance to back out if she wanted to and she was grateful for that. She wouldn't back out - she _wanted _this.

"Yes." Linking her arm with his, body shaking slightly, she waited for the two agents to toss the door open. Nervousness was new to her, but expected in this instance. Her whole life was about to change the moment they stepped beyond that door. In an instant, once those doors had been thrown open, his face twisted into the stoic, _presidential _expression she had grown used to seeing on television. The mask that hid the man beneath.

"President Fitzgerald Grant and Miss Olivia Pope."

She felt the stares and heard the whispers making there way through the crowds. All eyes were focused on them. A few women narrowed their eyes in her direction, snarls on their lips. Squaring her shoulders, she matched her steps with his, keeping her arm locked around his. Let them stare all they want. Across the room, they stopped before the tall, short-haired, older lady.

"Madam Prime Minister." Fitz extended his hand, shaking the woman's. After dropping her hand, he moved his arm to Olivia's back, twisting his body toward her. "Allow me to introduce Miss Pope."

Taking a shaky breath, Olivia extended her hand, grasping the Prime Minister's. Despite the amount of times she had brushed shoulders with the rich and powerful in the United States, this was her first time meeting a foreign leader. All eyes were on her, too, judging her as the president's girlfriend and, thus, a representative of their nation. Every step would be analysed. She knew the drill - her firm had practically invented the procedure.

"Madam Prime Minister. Please call me Olivia."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Olivia."

Following their introduction, Olivia stood beside Fitz, hands clasped behind her back, as he and the Prime Minister greeted each of the guests. It was a long, drawn out procedure that forced her to bite back several yawns - who knew there were so many people invited? - but one that Olivia was aware every President had followed since the first state dinner. All the guests had to be greeted.

"Shall we?" Working himself between the two ladies once the last guest's hand had been shaken, Fitz offered his other arm to the Prime Minister, escorting both women to their table. Dinner was a relatively uneventful task. There was small talk between the table's occupants. Both Fitz and the Prime Minister gave speeches, proposing toasts. Olivia found that she and the Prime Minister had instantly clicked - chatting over their meals as Fitz watched. Before long, the guests were making their way to the ballroom and a large, live band. After Fitz had gone through the obligatory dance with the Prime Minister, he led Olivia to the dance floor.

Olivia rested her hand in Fitz's, smiling up at him as the first chords of a waltz wafted through the room. Allowing him to take the lead, she followed him throughout the room - twirling and moving her feet. She wasn't a bad dancer, but he was better. Photographers, standing to the side, were busy filming and snapping photos of the couple. Olivia didn't doubt that, come tomorrow morning, their images would be on every magazine and newspaper across the country.

"Thank you for coming tonight."

"Everything's different now."

"Everything is different," he agreed, slowing to a stop as the music faded.

"We're in this together."

"Together."

And, as the sound of cameras clicking reached her ears, Olivia grinned knowing that the image that would grace the newspapers and magazines the next morning was one of him staring at her - only her, hands gripping her hips, and his lips pressed against hers.

* * *

**A/N - **I cannot thank all of you enough! Your reviews are kind and inspiring. Each one has made me cry happy tears and inspired me to keep writing this story. Thank you! - G. xxx


	4. If It's Love

"Today, after weeks of speculation, President Grant has rescinded support for House Bill 1637. He issued a threat to Congress, promising to return the bill should it pass. Unsigned. This would be the first veto of President Grant's career."

Olivia sat behind her desk at the former OPA. After publicly announcing her relationship, she had taken a step back from OPA and passed the reins of power to Quinn. It was a quick, painless transition and QPA was thriving. Even with a new name, though, Olivia's blood ran deep in the company.

"I would like to believe this threat was against the advice of his longstanding advisors. CNN is praising the president's decision. The liberals are praising a Republican president. This is ridiculous!"

Olivia rolled her eyes at the old man's ranting. Chris Davison was about as far right as they came. It really wasn't a surprise that he was practically attacking Fitz for this about-face. The Republican answer would always be more guns.

"I wonder how much of this decision was the president's and how much was the doing of Olivia Pope."

"Ah yes. The _gladiator_ of DC," Kelly Reims snorted, rolling her eyes. "The woman now publicly linked to President Grant."

"She definitely made a spectacle of herself last weekend. Hanging onto the President and wearing a dress that I'm not even sure a woman on a street corner would be comfortable wear —"

The television went black, silencing Chris Davison mid-rant. Olivia swivelled around in her desk chair, her black flats sliding uselessly against the smooth mat beneath the leather chair. Huck stood in the open doorway with a remote control in his hand and a disgruntled look on his face. Water slid down the sides of his face, pooling on the shoulders of his leather jacket.

"Please don't watch that." His warm eyes darted around the room - landing anywhere but Olivia.

"Huck?" Olivia called, trying to draw his attention to her. Huck was stubborn though.

"They're saying mean things. Please don't listen." Huck's voice was low and when his hazel gaze finally met Olivia's, the intense worry there had Olivia bowing her head. Huck, ever her protector, was operating in hyperdrive. That alone only fuelled Olivia's desire to power the television make on. Fox must have had some pretty nasty things to say and she wanted to hear them. No matter how bad it might hurt, she couldn't defend herself if she didn't know what she was up against.

"Just…let Quinn handle it, Olivia. Please."

That request, even when Huck was the one making it, was hard for Olivia to agree to. She was the fixer. When something needed handled, she handled it. As much as she respected Quinn - as much as she _trusted _Quinn, Olivia couldn't imagine letting anyone else take control of the situation.

"I'll talk to Quinn, Huck." Olivia lifted her head, meeting Huck's gaze. He still looked upset - a thick crease on his forehead and his brows downturned. He clutched the black remote in his hands, holding it close to his body as if he worried Olivia would suddenly fight him for it.

With a slight inclination of his head, Huck turned on his heel and walked away. Olivia's gaze fell to her desk. The barren surface stared back. The large, desktop calendar was blank and a few months behind. Her computer hadn't been powered on in weeks and the blank screen reflected her every move. Even her favourite pens were no longer locked away in the top, lefthand drawer - safely hidden from the office pen thief, Marcus. They had long since found a new home at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Gaze falling to the black telephone on her desk, Olivia wrapped her fingers around the receiver.

The dial tone that reached her ear was a relief. At least one thing in the office still worked. Frowning at the dial pad, Olivia tried to remember Quinn's extension. It had been too long since she had called anyone from this office.

"8…1…3…0…" Olivia mumbled to herself, her finger moving across the dial pad and pressing each number.

"What's up, buttercup?" Quinn's voice came floating through the receiver, pulling a laugh from Olivia.

"Alright. Where's the real Quinn and what have you done with her?"

"Ha!" Quinn chuckled. "What brings you to my neck of the woods?"

"Have you seen the news?" Olivia sighed, her joyful expression falling from her face. She twisted the black, curly cord of the phone around her pointer finger. Her silver nail polish shimmered each time the light hit it.

"I was wondering when you were going to bring that to us." The playful tone in Quinn's voice was long gone.

"That bad, huh?"

"You haven't heard everything?"

"I watched a little just now. Huck turned my television off and stole my remote."

"He's trying to protect you."

"Without a doubt. He wants me to sit this one out and let you handle everything."

"Is that what you want? We handle this however you say to handle this."

"I appreciate that Huck is trying to protect me, but I have to do this."

"Not alone."

Olivia smiled. Quinn wasn't going to argue that point and Olivia didn't expect any else. They were family. Always there for each other.

"I'll try to sneak a few broadcasts in and then we can discuss how to proceed." She'd have to go back to the White House for that. It would be impossible to watch _anything _as long as Huck was nearby. The man would find some way to thwart her plans.

"It's — not pretty, Liv." Quinn's concern didn't make her feel any better. They all expected Olivia to be able to handle whatever was thrown her way so for Quinn to be concerned…Olivia sighed.

"Do you think we're going to be able to spin it?"

The line went silent for a few moments after that question and Olivia found herself nervously tapping the wooden surface of her desk. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. _Nervousness_. It was still a new emotion for her and she wasn't quite sure she was going to get used to it.

"No. We can't spin what they're saying, Liv. We're going to have to call them out and we're going to have to prove that they're lying."

"That's even easier, Quinn." Olivia tried for a smile - tried to convince herself that what she was saying held any semblance of truth. She knew better.

"This is Fox News we're talking about. The far right. They aren't going to believe the truth."

"I know," Olivia sighed. Her gaze drifted to her cellphone as the screen lit up. Suddenly, the nervous ball of energy present in the pit of her stomach disappeared. Her background on her phone - a photo of her and Fitz from the state dinner, reminded her what she had to do. "We're on damage control. We help Fitz. This is going to affect him more than it will me."

"Olivia —"

"Quinn," Olivia shook her head, tightening her grip around the phone in her hand, "My reputation is on the line. I can fix that - I can _save_ that. His career can take a hit from this and…Fitz's career is everything to him."

"It might be time to call in the heavy hitters."

Olivia exhaled sharply. She didn't like the idea of that - she tried not to use those "heavy-hitters" if she didn't have to. If Quinn was suggesting it though…Well, it might not be so bad to have an extra ace up their sleeves.

"I'll think about it," Olivia agreed.

"We'll meet later. When Huck isn't lurking. If you need anything, Liv, _anything _—"

"You're not afraid to kick some ass, I know."

"Exactly." Quinn's laughter floated through the headset. "I'll talk to you later."

"You bet." Olivia placed the phone back into its cradle. Glancing down at her own cellphone, she tapped the screen and waited for it to light up once again. There was a text banner across the screen - a plea from Abby.

"What?" Olivia whispered to herself, standing from her desk chair and looking around for her bag. Locating the black, Chanel handbag, she was out of the office before Abby had a chance to respond to her text.

_**You need to convince your boyfriend that yelling at a bunch of old, grumpy representatives and senators isn't going to change what Fox is saying. **_

_**Cyrus is losing. **_

_**He needs reinforcements. **_

Shaking her head at the triple text she had just received, Olivia stormed out of the building and toward her car. There never was a dull moment in D.C.

* * *

"You can't storm down to the Capitol and chastise them!" Cyrus stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and glowering at Fitz. His greying hair stood on end - as though he had been tugging at the short strands.

The president, for his part, was pacing before his Chief of Staff. His dark curls stood on end, sticking up in every direction. One more pass of his large hand through those curls only made things worse. Loosening the tie around his neck, Fitz sighed.

"You've seen what they're saying, Cy!" Fitz's cheeks were red, frown lines etched deep.

"And you still can't march down to the Capitol and chew them out just because they ran to Fox the moment you told them no." Cyrus wagged his finger, hands flying as he spoke - attempting to help emphasise his point.

"They're like fucking children," Fitz exhaled, stopping in front of his desk and leaning against it.

"They're pissed off that daddy told them no. They'll come around."

Fitz shuddered, his face scrunching, as he took in Cyrus's words. Shaking his head, he raised a brow in Cyrus's direction. The older man was already frowning, his cheeks a bright red.

"_That's _the analogy you're going with?"

"Look: I already said it. I'm trying to move on and forget it, okay? Trying real hard to push the image of that being a kink you and Liv are into out of my head."

"On that note…" Fitz scratched the side of his head. "I still have to do _something_."

"Liv's a big girl, Fitz. She can take care of herself."

"That doesn't mean that she should."

Cyrus jumped back from the door as the doorknob began to rattle, turning. When the door opened, Olivia stood on the other side. She was dressed _down_ \- or at least down for her, in a loose grey skirt, blue ruffled top, and black flats. With little makeup and her hair pulled back into a sleek bun, she looked years younger.

"Liv!" Cyrus exclaimed, putting on a smile, "I wasn't expecting you here today."

Tilting her head to the side, she fully entered the Oval and shut the door behind her. The resulting slam echoed throughout the office.

"I'm here everyday, Cy." Her gaze met Fitz, silently questioning Cyrus's odd behaviour. "Why are you two acting like kids who were just caught with their hands in the cookie jar?"

"Let's not do _that_ analogy." Cyrus shuddered, closing his eyes for just a moment as he shook his head. The reaction was enough to prompt a chuckle from Olivia.

"What's wrong with that analogy?"

"Apparently Cyrus has been envisioning us with a daddy kink."

"Ack!" Cyrus waved at the air, chocking.

"Not a daddy kink, but Fitz does like when I call him Mr. President," Olivia winked, moving out of Cyrus's way as he edged toward the door.

"With that in mind…I'll talk to you guys later. I'm going to go try to wipe all these truly disturbing images from my mind."

Olivia waited until Cyrus was well out of the room before turning her attention to Fitz. Counting to ten, she brought her hand to the doorknob and clicked the button in the centre, locking the door. Judging from the look on Fitz's face, masked only momentarily by the jokes at Cyrus's expense, they needed to talk.

"What's wrong?" Olivia probed, hands on her hips crinkling the blue fabric of her blouse. She had goosebumps on her forearms courtesy of the too cool air-conditioning in the room.

"You haven't seen the news?" Fitz tilted his head, fingers gripping the edge of the desk he was leaning against. He looked like an absolute mess. Those curls she loved so much were in a bigger mess than she had ever left them. The red tie she had picked out for him just that morning was hanging low on his neck, half undone. His pale blue dress shirt was undone halfway down his sternum - exposing the dark hair covering his chest. He was a mess.

"The things they're saying? I've heard." She inched further into the room, stopping in front of him. Seeing him with worry lines etched upon his face and those blue eyes clouded with emotion made her chest hurt.

"And that doesn't bother you?" His eyes met hers, a crease in his forehead. Holding her hand out, she shook her head as he slipped his large hand into hers. Wrapping her fingers around his, she tugged until he was following her to the sofas in the middle of the room. Tugging her hand free, she pointed at the sofa until he sat.

"Fox can lie all they want. No matter what they say: they're still just lies. All that matters to me is that you know the truth. And you do. Because honestly, Fitz, I can handle them saying those things about me. I don't think I could handle it from you." While she spoke, Olivia padded around the sofa until she was standing directly behind Fitz. Placing her hands upon his shoulders, the blue cotton wrinkling beneath her fingers, she dug her fingers into his skin. Boy was he tense. His head tilted back and a moan fell from his lips as she hit a particularly tough knot right above his shoulder blade.

"I would never believe what they are saying, Liv. But it pisses me off that they're even saying it. It pisses me off that they're saying it about _you. _Above all, I'm pissed because you and I both know that if you were a white woman, they wouldn't be saying these things." He opened his eyes to stare straight up at her. Gone was the pain she had seen earlier and in its place, was fiery anger. President Grant was on a warpath and God help anyone who stood in his way.

"Fitz, I'm grateful that you feel that way, but this is my fight. I don't need the White House to stand up for me. I have QPA…and _other _resources."

"Other resources?" He raised a brow, reaching behind him to grab her hands.

"Quinn and I will handle this," Olivia asserted. She had to be careful - Fitz wasn't ready to hear about B613. From experience, she knew that was something she would have to ease him into. Learning that there was a secret organisation, hiding just under his nose, with quite possibly _more _power than the presidency, would be a shock. "And Huck's already on overdrive."

"I need to meet him." The smile was finally back on his face, the worry lines starting to fade away. She had mentioned Huck to him and Fitz was a fan.

Walking around the sofa, Olivia kneeled in front of Fitz. The carpet was rough against her knees, but wasn't anything too uncomfortable. Her shoes though…those had to go. Kicking the black flats off, she rested her hands on Fitz's knees and gazed up at him.

"You will," She promised, her thumbs rubbing circles on the sides of his knees. Shuffling so that she was sitting on the floor, she rested her cheek against his thigh. "At least you're smiling now."

"It's a lot of bullshit, Liv."

"I know," she agreed. It _was_ bullshit. But she was a big girl and she could handle it. She'd handled things just as bad before she had met him. This wouldn't be any different.

The silence that filled the room was calming - as was Fitz's hand at the nape of her neck, fingers gently scratching against her skull. It had almost lulled Olivia into a nap before she remembered just why she had assumed this position in the first place. Placing her hands on his thighs, she shook his hand free and pushed herself into a kneeling position once more.

"Still stressed?" A mischievous smile crossed her lips as she looked up at him.

"When am I ever not stressed?" He wondered.

"Oh I can think of a few times…" Olivia shrugged, fingers trailing up his thighs and skimming over the already growing bulge in his charcoal slacks.

"Now Miss Pope, are you sure this is a good idea?" Fitz tilted his head, brows raised and blue eyes twinkling when her hands reached his zipper.

"And why wouldn't it be, Mr. President?" She wrapped her fingers around the silver zipper, yanking on the small metal piece. The sound of his zipper being yanked down filled the room, followed by Olivia unbuttoning his pants.

"Presidents don't have the best track record doing these sort of things in the Oval." Fitz winked, digging his feet into the carpet and lifting his butt just enough to help Olivia pull his pants and boxers down to puddle at his feet. Immediately, Olivia's hands were on his dick.

"Just shut up and let me suck your dick, Mr. President."

Her eyes twinkled as she pumped her hand up and down his thick length. Fitz watched her with hooded eyes and his hands found their way into her hair. Gaze locked with his, Olivia's tongue darted out between her lips, swirling around his already sensitive tip. Wrapping her lips around his hard, velvety flesh, Olivia slowly took him into her warm mouth.

"Livvie," he gasped, fingers painfully twisting in her hair to hold her in place as his hips thrust upward. His hips began moving back and forth, slowly, as he held her head still - just fucking her face. More and more of him was being pushed into her mouth with each thrust. Every time he pushed close to her gag reflex, she swallowed around him. Once he finally reached the back of her throat, he held her there - pressing her nose firmly into his groin as a low groan rumbled from his chest. Tears formed in her eyes, threatening to spill over, as he hit the back of her throat.

Olivia swallowed around him again as her nails dug into his hip, dragging downward toward his thigh. She pulled back, letting him slide free from her mouth. Strings of saliva connected his cock to her lips as she gasped for air. Fitz's clouded, blue orbs watched as her tongue darted out - licking her lips. Olivia wrapped her fingers around him, stroking his dick while the wet sound from her saliva was apparent. Rather than taking his cock back into her mouth, though, she went straight for his balls and sucked the tender flesh between her cherry lips. Immediately, Fitz pushed his hips forward and let out a low moan, releasing a heavy exhale right after.

"How did you get so good at this, hm?"

Olivia rolled her eyes before pulling away from his balls with a pop.

"Maybe having a boyfriend who makes me suck his dick all the time has increased my skill."

"Oh, really? So, I make you suck my dick all the time?"

A mischievous grin crossed Olivia's lips and she pulled her hand away from his dick.

"Yeah. All the fucking time. There's hardly ever a moment where it's not in my mou —"

She should have known better. Before she could utter another word, her mouth was soon full - nose pressed against his groin. Her throat constricted around the head of his dick as she was forced to deepthroat him without getting a chance to swallow.

"I suppose I should —mmm — make that true, then, shouldn't I? Make you suck — shit — suck my dick all the time?"

Her nails were digging into his hip and thigh as she was gagging around him, but the moment he felt her tap his thigh, he pulled away. Olivia was grateful that he had listened to the one gesture they had agreed upon weeks ago - when they had realised that neither was into a _traditional _sex-life.

He kept his hands in her hair while she coughed and inhaled, deeply. After a few brief moments of regaining herself, she looked up at him. He was back in her mouth quickly, hips moving back and forth as he fucked her face while letting out low moans. Olivia knew what she was doing - sucking just hard enough that it would have been on the verge of being nearly painful. He was getting close, she could tell.

"Fuck, baby," Fitz growled. "I'm close."

Olivia moaned around him, her hands flying to the buttons of her silky blouse. Her eyes burned into his as she quickly undid the pearl buttons, tossing her blouse on the floor behind her and undoing her bra as well. He was stressed and this was a fantasy of his - she was going to give it to him. With a pop, she pulled her mouth from him.

"Come on my tits."

Fitz moaned as Olivia shifted until she was holding herself up as high as she could. Her arms moved inward and pushed her breasts together while she tipped her head backward, eyes still locked on his. He was busy stroking himself, his hand moving nearly as fast as her mouth had up and down his dick.

It didn't take long. Fitz groaned when he came, watching as he released himself on her chest - even getting a string of his thick, hot cum on her throat. When he finished, he released his cock and raised his hand in front of her face. Olivia's eyes immediately dropped to it - wandering over the cum that had gotten onto his fist. The message was loud and clear.

"Shit," Fitz whispered, just holding his hand out and keeping his fingers spread for her to work on cleaning his fist. Olivia dragged her tongue between his thumb and index fingers. She even sucked his thumb into her mouth to make sure she cleaned every last drop. When he pulled his hand back; however, her eyes dropped to her chest and she went to hip his cum off her. Instead, Fitz pushed her wrist away and dragged his finger from the base of her throat upward - collecting his cum on his finger. Olivia was quick to pop his finger in her mouth afterward, lolling her tongue around until the thick digit was clean.

Clasping her hands behind her back, Olivia pushed her chest out and batted her lashes up at Fitz. An innocent smile crossed her face as she asked: "All good, Mr. President?"

"Woman, you're going to be the death of me," Fitz chuckled.

* * *

**A/N - **So I'm going to be completely honest here: this story takes me forever to update because you guys have me terrified that it isn't going to live up to expectations. I seriously never thought this would have been as well received as it has been.

Until next time,

Gabi


	5. Marry Me

"As expected, President Grant has returned House Bill 1637. This first veto of the President's career - against a Republican backed bill, has made shockwaves through Washington."

Olivia crossed her arms, ruffling the grey silk of her blouse, as her eyes followed the reporters on screen. It hadn't even been five minutes since Fitz had used the rubber-handled, red VETO stamp he had prepared on his desk the night before. The televised event was a hot topic that was bringing on a whole range of emotions.

"I have to give the president credit." Somehow, they had managed to get Senator Theodore Whitby - a democrat from Massachusetts, to appear on the broadcast. The older, greying man had become something of a stable at the White House as of late and a bit of a mentor to both Olivia and Fitz. "I think this bodes well for the future of our government. We have a president who said no to the pressure coming from his own party and took a more moderate stance because he knows this legislation isn't right for the American people. This is truly a remarkable event."

"Indeed it is. And I have to ask, Senator, before you go," The news anchor called from his side of the split screen. "There has been much speculation, especially on other networks, of the role Olivia Pope has played in sort of… _encouraging _the president to veto this bill."

"As you mentioned, Neil, this is just speculation. I don't know what goes on behind closed doors and, frankly, it isn't any of my business. Maybe Ms. Pope did have some influence on this veto and maybe she didn't. What I can say is that President Grant is a very strong personality and I can't imagine that anyone could have changed his mind if he wasn't open to looking at this issue from every angle."

"So you would disagree, Senator Whitby, with the accusations that Ms. Pope is calling the shots for the president?"

The senator snorted, shaking his head with a smile on his lips. His dark eyes were sparkling with what Olivia took to signal his barely contained laugh. Anyone who had intimate knowledge of her relationship with Fitz, as the senator did, knew that neither party was calling the shots for the other.

"Absolutely not, Neil. Ms. Pope is an intelligent, very successful woman who happens to be, perhaps, the best crisis manager I have ever met or had the pleasure of watching in action. But she is not calling the shots. The president is a big boy He asks for advice, considers what is said, and then makes a decision. _His _decision. Does he consult Ms. Pope? Probably. I consult my own wife when I find myself in need of some advice. But to suggest that either is calling all the shots and forcing the other to do their bidding is, quite frankly, a disrespectful and simple-minded accusation."

"Strong words, Senator." Despite his statement, Neil Harris looked pleased with the senator's response. That didn't surprise Olivia. She had worked with Neil plenty of times - knew him well enough to know that he was agreeing with every word that Senator Whitby was uttering. She also knew that Quinn and the rest of QPA had worked their magic in getting Neil to present Senator Whitby with these particular questions.

"Maybe. I see a bit of myself in Ms. Pope, Neil. FOX - and let's not mince words here because they are the network perpetrating these attacks, are only making these accusations because they feel threatened by those like myself and Ms. Pope. They feel threatened by any person of colour who holds a position of power and they will do anything to demoralise those in these roles to fuel their racist agenda."

"I couldn't have said that better myself," Neil agreed, nodding his head along with the senator's words. "Thank you, senator."

The screen flickered and suddenly the news anchor was all that was filling the television screen. "We'll have more live coverage coming up."

Olivia tapped her fingers against her arms, chewing on her bottom lip. CNN had been encouraging - grateful for the veto, even. She was almost afraid to change the channel. Quinn had worked hard to get that CNN interview to where it had gone - and it had paid off. It was too new for FOX to have reacted, yet, though. There wasn't a doubt that FOX would be a little less than thrilled. Still, she reached for the remote on the glass television stand and changed the channel.

"…this is insane! Why let a woman dictate whether or not a bill passes? Why let such a _liberal _woman decide if your _children _can be protected or not?" Chris Davison was mid-rant, his face ruddy and eyes down-turned - jaws shaking as he spoke.

"The president definitely isn't thinking with the head on his shoulders," Kelly Reims chuckled. "I wonder where his _fling_ was today? She certainly wasn't present for _her _veto."

"Probably out finding the next man she can turn…_ahem _on her knees…_ahem_ to her cause -"

Olivia muted the television, eyes narrowing as Chris's mouth continued moving - his hands flying around. She tossed the remote onto the glass table to her left, barely registering the loud clink that echoed in the office. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks.

"Yikes. What are they saying now?" Quinn edged into the office, her heels clicking against the floor. The sound brought a small smile to Olivia's otherwise agitated expression. Quinn in heels was still something she was getting used to - at least on the semi-frequent basis Quinn had started wearing them.

"Chris Davison just insinuated that I am sleeping around in order to get my way with Congress," Olivia sighed, rolling her head in a slow circle until she felt her neck crack. The amount of pressure she had experienced within the weeks following her public debut as Fitz's girlfriend had contributed to more knots and kinks in her neck and shoulders than she had ever experienced.

"I'm sorry…did you just say that FOX called you a whore"? Quinn frowned, placing her hands on her hips.

"I try to ignore them -" Olivia shook her head, rolling her eyes, " - but damnit sometimes they make it so fucking hard."

"They're mad none of their PWG poster sluts could catch his eyes." Quinn shrugged, tossing her head back and cackling with Olivia. Wiping her now watery eyes, Quinn's expression turned serious. "I know you don't want to, Liv, but I think it's time we call in reinforcements."

"And what: threaten FOX into keeping their fucking mouths shut?"

"That's not the B6-13 you've built," Quinn reminded her. It was always a fight whenever using the top-secret military organisation was mentioned. Olivia had reluctantly taken control only after knocking her father from the top - citing a need to stop his manical underdog dealings. It had taken all their smarts, planning, and strength to topple Eli - and had nearly cost Huck his sanity. After taking control, Olivia had completely rebranded the organisation. It was still top secret, but things were done differently now. No killing. No torture. No threats.

"You know I don't like using them."

"They run intel, Liv - just as you've taught them. If they find something on -"

"No, Quinn."

"Then we use them to drop information about your relationship - nothing too private - and use information about the President's veto. By the time they're done, everyone will know that you're with Grant, _only _Grant, and that he chose to veto by himself."

"We do this clean," Olivia reminded her friend.

"Squeaky," Quinn promised, smiling. "But that doesn't mean that, in private, I'm not going to be loud and clear about my feelings toward FOX and their openly racist remarks."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Olivia smirked.

"Just because you can't tell them to fuck off doesn't mean I won't."

"I see you watched Senator Whitby's interview."

"_I _coached Senator Whitby for his interview."

"You're the best, Quinn."

* * *

"This is going to be an all-out war."

Fitz, hands dug deep in the pockets of his grey slacks, shrugged. Unlike Cyrus, who stood across the desk from him fidgeting and running a pudgy hand through his thinning, grey hair, Fitz was unbothered by the events of only moments ago.

"I pulled my support _months _ago, Cy. I told them to either make acceptable changes or scrap the bill. I even worked with certain senators and representatives to suggest appropriate changes. They knew that veto was on the table and they still ignored my warnings."

"You're not the one I'm worried about," Cyrus admitted, blowing a puff of air between his lips. "Have you seen what they're saying? About Liv?"

"I haven't heard anything they've said today."

Cyrus nodded, his gaze hardening as he provided Fitz with a summary. "Before you came in, FOX was all but calling Olivia a whore who is sleeping with you to influence legislation how she wishes."

Fitz's jaw visibly tensed and his hands curled into fists inside his pockets. "I offered to intervene. She turned me down."

"Because she doesn't want your support taking a hit," Cyrus smirked, rolling his eyes. "Above all else, she'll always be a crisis manager."

"She went to QPA to help manage the situation."

"_Just _QPA?" Cyrus wondered.

"Who else would there be?"

"She has a habit of calling in favours from some unlikely places." Cyrus shrugged, digging his phone from the back of his pocket at the sound of a notification coming from the device. "And it looks like she already has Quinn on the offensive."

"I don't think Liv would have to set Quinn on anyone."

"She's launching a social media attack on FOX," Cyrus chuckled. "She already has a whole host of others joining her."

"At least one of us can call them on their shit," Fitz sighed, running a hand through his own thick, curly locks.

"The two of you will get through this. Did you see Ted's interview with CNN?"

"I haven't seen anything, Cy."

"He ripped FOX a new one," Cyrus laughed. "It reeked of either Olivia or Quinn's coaching. Damn was it a thing of beauty."

"Ha." Fitz shook his head, walking around his desk and leaning against the wall nearest the window. Raising his arm above his head and resting his elbow against the white wall, his gaze travelled out to the sunny lawn. "Hopefully they lay off her soon. I'm going to ask her to marry me, Cyrus."

"When?"

"I'm still planning that," Fitz admitted. "Soon, though. I have Abby helping me find a ring. I can't exactly go to a store and look myself. Shitty part about being the president."

"You and Abby will pick the perfect ring. Liv will love it. And she'll definitely say yes."

"With luck, right?" Fitz turned to look at Cyrus, his head tilted and a smirk on his face.

"I do believe she somewhat likes you."

"Have you seen Quinn's Twitter feed?" The door opened, slamming shut behind Olivia. She was already rambling, her eyes focused on the screen of her iPhone, as she came to a halt before Fitz's desk.

Fitz took a second to drink in the sight of her. He hadn't seen her since that morning - when he had had to leave bright and early. She had woken only briefly to kiss him goodbye before rolling back over and burying her head under the blankets. The white power suit she had chosen for the day was one of his favourites and he took his time appreciating the look.

"Cyrus was just complimenting her…twits? Tweeters?"

"Tweets." Olivia grinned, laughing at Fitz's exasperated expression.

"Cut me some slack. I have never in my life used that app."

"Who the fuck runs the POTUS account then?" Olivia raised a brow, crossing her arms.

"That would be Abby. Occasionally me, but Abby does it better."

"So _Cyrus _knows what Twitter is, but not you?"

"I can be a hip old man." Cyrus raised his arms, swaying his shoulders back and forth.

"Yeah." Fitz rolled his eyes, lifting a hand and waving at Cyrus as the man backed out of the room. Finally alone with Olivia, Fitz rounded his desk and rested his hands on her hips.

"Mmm. I love proper hellos," Olivia grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck and running her tongue along her bottom lip as their kiss ended.

"So do I." Fitz's voice was husky as his hands slid from her hips and around to cup her ass.

"Really?" Olivia giggled, hair bouncing as she shook her head.

"What?" Fitz waggled his brows innocently.

"I swear you couldn't go a week without sex."

"Want to bet on that?" Fitz raised a brow, moving his hands from her ass and back to her hips.

"Bet."

* * *

"Hm…I know how to fix your problem." Olivia's eyes sparkled, her bright red lips twitching at the corner. A perfectly sculpted brow was raised as she stared down the man before her. His eyes hadn't left her since she had first stepped into the Oval - wearing a tight pencil skirt and low-cut white blouse.

"My problem?"

"_That _problem." She tilted her head toward his lap, twinkling eyes falling briefly to the bulge in his dress pants. He could hide it if he wanted to - scoot his deckchair closer. But he wouldn't do that with her there. She had made the bet, even if he had been the one to egg it on with his challenging, and so he would make sure that she knew just how that bet was affecting him.

"I'm starting to regret making that bet," he chuckled, his eyes travelling the length of her exposed legs and fingers gripping the edge of the desk. Slowly, he rolled his chair until his lap was concealed by the dark wood.

Olivia had chosen the tight, pencil skirt with the very intent of enticing him. She knew she couldn't hold out much longer, but the proud, stubborn streak in her wouldn't allow her to give in. Nothing said she had to play fair, though.

"Well…we clearly still can't have sex because that would be breaking the bet." She shrugged, an almost regretful smile on her face. "But it doesn't mean we can't touch ourselves. In front of each other."

Olivia slowly licked her lips as Fitz took a huge gulp of air. She noticed that he had one of his hands in his lap, but she couldn't see what he was doing. Damn that desk. She had a pretty good idea just what he was doing, though.

"But it looks like you've already started without me." She made a show of pouting - the smouldering, sultry look in her eyes trained on his hidden hand and the movements his arm was making. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he spoke.

"Take your skirt off and sit on the desk." His voice was husky, commanding, as his hand continued moving beneath the desk.

Olivia grinned, fingers moving to the back of her skirt and grasping the metal zipper that held her skirt in place. Tugging on the zipper, the sound echoing as she pulled it down, Olivia moved her hands to the waistband of the tight material and began pushing down. Shimmying out of the skirt and her lacy thong, Olivia placed her hands on the edge of the desk. She effortlessly lifted herself onto the cool, smooth wood and shoved his papers out of the way.

Fitz licked his lips, eyes darkening, at the sight of Olivia sitting bare on his desk. Standing, he slowly began unbuttoning his dark blue shirt, pulling the material from the waistband of his pants as he did so. Olivia tried not to roll her eyes at the move. How many times had she told him that he needed to unbutton his pants first?

"Are you really thinking about my _clothes _right now?" Fitz chuckled.

Olivia laughed at his comment. He was becoming increasingly talented at reading her . Sometimes he knew how she felt before she really did.

"Just thinking about how slow you are at taking them off."

"Ugh huh. It had nothing to do with me pulling my shirt out the way I did?" Fitz teased, his fingers going to the button and zipper of his pants. He had both pants and boxers pulled down before she could respond.

"Absolutely nothing." She winked, her eyes travelling to his now exposed dick as he settled into his chair once more.

Scooting the leather chair just close enough to the desk gave Olivia plenty of space to place her feet on his thighs, right above his knees. He groaned as she settled into position - her legs spread wide and offering him an ample view of her pussy. His hand went to his cock, slowly stroking up and down as he watched her slide her fingers along her folds. Tantalisingly slow, she dipped her middle and ring fingers into her pussy with a soft moan. Her eyes were watching his hand, too, and she bit her lip at the feel of her own wet centre tightening around her fingers - imagining they were his. Had it really only been three days?

"Talk to me?" Olivia whispered, dragging her eyes to his face and gasping at the dark look in his eyes. It only made her want him more.

"You want me to talk dirty now? Don't just want to watch?"

"Please, babe?" Olivia all but whined. She loved dirty talk and it was something that Fitz excelled in…even if he didn't always believe in that talent of his.

"Maybe if you rub your clit for me."

Olivia bit her lip, whimpering as her legs shook with anticipation. Placing one hand on the desk, she leaned back as she pulled her fingers from her pussy. Sliding her fingers up her folds, she rubbed them over her clit - gasping at the pleasurable feeling coursing through her body once her fingertips made contact with the engorged nub.

"Good girl," Fitz praised and her whole body shook. There was something about the way he spoke to her in moments like this that had her body on fire. "You were already dripping for me before you even touched yourself, weren't you? Do you get wet just from seeing me? Imaging the things I can do to you?"

"Fuck," Olivia breathed, fingers moving faster now.

"I asked you a question." Fitz's voice was stern, egging her on further as his own hand moved faster - nearly matching her movements.

"Yes, sir."

That was a common theme of theirs whenever things got heated in this office. They both liked the 'President' role-play and it took no extra prodding for Olivia to insert it into whatever they were doing. She didn't relinquish control easily, but in this office - in _this _moment, she nearly always did.

"Stop," Fitz ordered. And Olivia did just that. She didn't always listen to him, but here he was in control. It was an unspoken arrangement between the two. "Put them back in."

Eagerly, she did. Shoving her fingers back into her throbbing pussy, her hips bucked involuntarily. It felt wonderful.

"Add another."

So she added a third finger. It coaxed a groan from the back of her throat, but it wasn't enough. As well as she knew her body - and as talented as she had been before meeting Fitz at satisfying her own needs, her fingers just weren't enough anymore. Her small hands were poor substitutes for his long, thick digits and, especially, his dick.

"Tell me what you're thinking about."

"You bending me over this desk and fucking me from behind. Making me scream loud enough that everyone knows I'm yours." Her fingers continued their bruising pace. In. Out. In. Out.

Fitz let a moan escape as he ran the pad of his thumb across the head of his cock. His husky voice only turned Olivia on further as he asked, "You don't think the bruises I leave all over your body are enough?"

Unbidden, her gaze travelled to the dark circle on her breast. There were more dotting her collarbone. More often than not, she found herself wearing sweaters and scarfs to hide the marks he was leaving. They'd never hear the end of it if she walked into public with those marks on full display. It was still fun to pretend, though.

"Answer me."

God, he was hot when he was commanding. Her fingers pumped just a little harder at his command, her eyes falling to his hand and what it was doing to his cock - what she wished _she _was doing to his cock.

"No, sir."

"Hmm." He tilted his head, his hand slowing just a bit as he appeared to contemplate what she had said. It didn't take him long to recover. "I bet you think about all the other ways I could claim you. The other ways I _do _claim you. Like me coming inside you, huh?"

Her mouth fell open at his words. She hadn't expected him to go _there. _Her legs fell to the sides further, her toes sliding over the edge of his thighs, gripping at his skin to keep from falling off completely. The new angle gave her plenty of room to pump her fingers deeper.

"You probably think about me filling you up over and over again, don't you? Until you're so full of my cum it feels like my cock is still in you."

Olivia bit her lip, hard, and moaned. Her imagination was running wild with his words and her fingers were completely soaked. Each word he uttered was sending new shockwaves to her pussy that only made her wetter - if that were even possible.

"You like that idea, don't you?"

There was something so…delicious about the way his voice wavered on that phrase - breathy and strained. Olivia let out a deep moan, responding with:

"_Fuck, _sir. That sounds so fucking good."

Groaning, Fitz stood from his seat. Olivia's feet fell from his thighs when he did so, but it didn't take her long to find a new resting place on the armrests of his chair. He stood between her thighs, looming tall over her, as his hand continued pumping along his length.

"Maybe one day," he whispered, his hand pausing each time he reached the head of his cock to squeeze ever so slightly - just as she always did when it was her hand and not his doing the work. "You'll take my thick cock until I can't cum anymore. Or until you can't fit anymore in your pussy."

With a whimper, Olivia's hips bucked against her hand. The sound of just how _wet _she was echoed in the room. It only made her want to get off even more. No one had ever succeeded in getting her this wet before.

"Fitz," Olivia exhaled, her legs trembling at the tight feeling spreading in her stomach. "I'm so close, babe."

"Keep going, babe. Be a good girl and come for me." Fitz's voice rumbled low in his chest, his strokes speeding up as Olivia arched her back. Her fingers rapidly pounded into her pussy as the trembling in her legs increased. With a loud moan, she tipped over the edge. Fitz's name fell from her lips as her pussy tightened around her fingers, clenching hard enough that she struggled to move her hand at all. When she finally pulled her fingers from her core, they were glistening.

"Let me fuck you," Fitz whispered, pressing his forehead to hers as he stroked himself faster, squeezing his dick a bit and groaning from the pressure.

"Then you'd lose the bet," Olivia reminded him, hips still flexing involuntarily. She chocked it up to her brain's wanton desire for his dick. Especially with it so close. It wouldn't take much to have him inside…No. Olivia shook her head, turning her gaze away from the pleading look in Fitz's baby blues.

"Please, Liv. I need to fuck you so fucking bad." His breaths were coming in harsh, uneven huffs. He was close. Oh so close.

So Olivia decided to help egg him on. One of her hands went to her breast, squeezing and tugging at her nipple.

"Finish on me, sir. Mark me with your cum so everyone knows who I belong to."

It took only a few more pumps for Fitz to come - right on the outside of her pussy. His hot sperm spurted over her slick folds. After taking a few, deep breaths to calm himself, he reached for her hand. Fingers wrapping around her wrist, he pulled her hand toward his mouth and slid her three fingers - the very three that had been inside her only moments earlier, into his mouth. A low rumble started in his chest as he sucked on her fingers, eyes latched onto hers.

"Fuck." Olivia bit her lip and watched, eyes half-closed. At the same time, she felt his hand wipe along her pussy. He gathered his cum on his long fingers before holding his fingers out to her. She looked at his hand, licking her lips slowly, before sliding her gaze back to his. Still, she kept her mouth shut.

"Olivia." Her fingers slid from his mouth with a pop and, when she smirked, he ordered: "Open."

She shook her head, refusing for just a moment longer, before finally opening her mouth. He shoved his fingers down her throat - gagging her and leaving his cum on her tongue. He didn't gag her for long and when he pulled his fingers free, she had a grin on her face.

"Testing my patience tonight?" Fitz teased, giving her a chance to swallow before leaning down to place his lips against hers.

"It's fun." Olivia smirked, her hands sliding over his well-muscled shoulders.

"Why are we doing this bet again?" Fitz wondered, resting his hands on either side of her bare body.

"Because we're both competitive people who don't know how to back down from a challenge."

"Right as that may be…" Fitz grinned, laying his forehead against hers, "I'm willing to concede this one."

"What? That wasn't good enough for you?" Olivia frowned, nails scratching gently down his back.

"That was great…but I'd rather feel your pussy around my cock than my hand."

"You paint a pretty picture."

"Tomorrow, I'll paint an even prettier one." Fitz winked, pulling back to place a kiss to the tip of her nose.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that your butt better be up at dawn. We're flying to California."

"California? Why?" Olivia tilted her head. That was the first she was hearing of this adventure.

"There's something I want to show you there."

She grinned, shaking her head. This wasn't spontaneous. That she knew. He would have had to plan this days to weeks in advance. His schedule would have to be cleared and security would have had arrangements of their own to make. At one point, she would have been pissed about the secrecy. At one point, a secret like this wouldn't have gone this far. She was reinventing herself here, though, as she constantly had to remind herself. And that was why, instead of arguing, she said:

"I can't wait to see it. But you better let me sleep on the plane!"

* * *

"This pool is amazing." Olivia used her index finger to slide the large, white oval sunglasses down her nose as she took in the sparkling, blue water of the kidney-shaped swimming pool. The sun was warm against her skin - the healthy amount that was exposed by her swimsuit.

"I'm glad you like it," Fitz chuckled, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her midriff. His skin felt warm, too, against the small sliver of hers that peeked out between her floral top and high-waisted, teal bottoms.

"Thank you for bringing me here." She rested her hands on his forearms, her nails grazing his skin gently.

"We all need a getaway sometimes."

Her head fell against his muscular shoulder, lolling to the side as he nuzzled his nose into the side of her neck. His lips sought out her velvety smooth skin, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses. Slowly, he trailed his lips down her neck and over her shoulder - leaving a glistening trail on her skin. His movements were only serving to cause a fire to build in the very depths of Olivia's stomach.

"Four days," she breathed, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Huh?" Fitz whispered against her skin, scrapping his teeth over her shoulder-blade.

"Oh fuck it." Olivia wrapped her hands around his arms - as much as her small hands could fit around his thick forearms, anyway, and tugged until he dropped them. Spinning around, she placed her hands on his shoulders, "If you admit you can't go a week without sex, I'll admit it."

"I can't go a week without sex," Fitz was quick to intone, large hands locking onto her hips.

"Loser!" Olivia giggled at the look Fitz threw her way, one of his eyebrows raised as though asking, 'Really?' "I can't go a week, either."

"Fucking finally."

And his lips were on hers. Olivia sighed - her mind drifting to how fucking difficult it was to kiss Fitz. He was a fantastic kisser. Depending on the situation, his kisses could be soft and loving - or desperate and hungry. Sometimes, tantalisingly so, they could be both. But he was so damn _tall_. Almost a foot taller than her. Even standing on her tiptoes wasn't always enough to kiss him without some kind of strain on both their parts. Somehow, though, Fitz always found a way around that inconvenience.

And so he did this time, too, as he slid his hands from her hips and around to cup the round globes of her ass. Forearm muscles flexing, he lifted her from the patio. Olivia wrapped her legs around his waist, holding on for dear life, and slid her arms over his shoulders. She moaned into his mouth as she felt his hard length pressing against her swimsuit clad centre.

"Mmm." She sighed into the kiss, shrieking as she felt his feet moving.

Fitz carried her to the beige, lounge chair at the head of the pool. They broke apart, laughing, when he all but collapsed onto the chair.

"That could have gone a lot smoother," he winked.

"I could have walked," Olivia laughed, sliding off his lap. Her hands went to the string at her neck, undoing the knot. Gripping the top of her suit, she pushed the material down her body until she was standing nude before Fitz and waiting on him to finish shoving his own swimming trunks from his body.

"Your kisses are addicting," Olivia admitted, straddling his body once more and slamming her lips against his. She groaned at the feel of Fitz grinding the length of his dick against her folds - coating his cock with her slickness. No matter how much she shifted her hips, trying to get him to fill her, he wouldn't. Instead, he took his time teasing her.

"Fitz," Olivia panted, pulling away from his mouth, "Will you just fuck me already?"

"I have a much better idea."

The sound of Fitz's hand hitting her ass made her jump, a red handprint showing against her skin. Pouting, she narrowed her eyes at the man beneath her.

"Stand."

Huffing, Olivia stood - her thighs involuntarily rubbing together. Raising a brow, she frowned when Fitz motioned for her to spin around.

"Now sit on my lap again," Fitz ordered, hands reaching for her hips and helping guide her back onto the lounge chair with her back to his face.

"What are we doing?" Olivia questioned. It wasn't that she was inexperienced, per se, but her past experiences with ex-boyfriends were _nothing _like sex with Fitz. He'd already introduced her to a whole new world.

"You'll see," Fitz grinned, pushing on the back of the lounge chair until he was laying flat on his back. "Now sit on my face."

"Fuck that's hot," Olivia muttered, scooting backwards until she was hovering just above Fitz's face.

Both of Fitz's arms went around her midriff. Olivia's hands found Fitz's thighs, nails digging into his flesh as she attempted to steady herself. She found her thighs squeezing against the sides of his face in anticipation of what was to come. A shiver travelled down her spine at the feel of his flat tongue dragging along her outer labia, stopping just before her perineum. A moan tumbled from her mouth and he moved an arm from her midriff so that he could use his now free hand to spread her open. His tongue met her clit, flicking rapidly against the encouraged nub. Olivia's nails scrapped against his thighs, leaving thin lines of red, when his lips wrapped around her clit, tugging at the sensitive bundle.

"Come on, Livvie," Fitz panted, pulling his mouth free, "You're not down there for nothing."

Olivia's eyes widened, her mouth forming an 'o'. Well, this was new. Licking her lips, Olivia's eyes fell to Fitz's dick - right in front of her face. She reached out, wrapping her fingers around his cock, and stroked him a couple times before taking the tip into her mouth and gently sucking. Fitz moaned against her clit, his mouth having returned to her centre the minute her hands were touching him. Once again, he sucked her clit between his lips. He used his middle finger to rub against the entrance to her pussy, teasing her.

Olivia took more of him into her mouth, sucking hard enough that her cheeks caved with the effort. At the same time, Fitz sucked her clit harder. Her head began to bob. Back and forth. Back and forth. The hand that was wrapped around his dick stroked the length of his dick that she couldn't fit into her mouth.

"Fuck," Fitz rumbled, releasing her clit and inhaling sharply, "Your mouth feels so fucking good."

Olivia hummed against him, lips curling upward at the appreciative rumble that came from his chest. She rubbed her pussy against his face as he began flexing his hips, slowly fucking her face. Her grip tightened on his thighs as he sped up his thrusts.

Fitz took her clit back into his mouth and the finger that had been holding her open dipped into her pussy. Olivia could only moan around him, her legs attempting to spread even further until she felt her knees dangerously close to the edge of the chair.

Eventually, his thrusts sped up faster than she could handle while still sucking. So, she opened her mouth wider, relaxing her throat, and let him fuck her face with little to no resistance. The audible wet sound of his cock hitting the back of her throat was so fucking loud - especially when paired with the wet sound of him fingering her. Everything was _wet_.

The pace of his thrusts became a bit too much and Olivia tapped his thigh twice, signalling a need for him to pull out. When he did, she breathed heavily as strings of saliva connected her lips with his dick. She only needed a few seconds before she leaned forward and swirled her tongue around the top of his dick, his hips jerking from the sensitivity. Olivia grinned.

Of course she exploited this newfound information by grabbing onto Fitz's dick and rubbing the pad of her thumb in circles over the tip. Fitz made a low, rumbling noise against her clit as his hips jerked back. He obviously wasn't a fan.

"Olivia," he warned, pushing himself forward and prodding the tip of his dick against her light-pink lips. But she kept going. It only took a few more seconds before his fingers were ripped from her pussy and he was reaching down to grab her wrist - pulling her hand from his dick. Satisfied with the amount of teasing she had done, Olivia opened her mouth again and took him back in. Immediately, Fitz started fucking her face again as his hand, and fingers, returned to her pussy.

But that familiar buildup in her belly was happening before she'd even started teasing him, so when he pushed a third finger into her - it almost snapped. Olivia's moaning only seemed to encourage Fitz to suck her clit harder, flicking his tongue around rapidly as he crooked his fingers inside her. And when she came, grinding herself against his face, it took her by surprise.

But he didn't stop sucking on her clit. And damn was it fucking sensitive.

Olivia's hips jerks just as Fitz's had when she was teasing him, and she soon realised this was payback. Fitz didn't stop fucking her mouth, either, and she figured the only way he'd stop exploiting her sensitivity was when he finally got off. At this rate, she couldn't fucking wait until he did because it was taking _forever. _

His low moans against her told her that he was close. The vibrations; however, only made her whine and whimper around his cock. She sucked harder, hoping that would speed him along, and she tried to swallow around the head as much as she could without allowing her trembling legs to bother her too much.

And soon enough, he came - spilling into her mouth. She swallowed it all, sighing in relief when Fitz finally released her clit from his lips. Both panting, Olivia pulled her mouth from his dick and rested her head on his thigh as his head fell back against the chair. She rested only a moment before standing, turning around and laying back on the chair with him. Only this time, her head was resting against his shoulder.

Legs dangling on either side of the chair as she straddled him, Fitz held her tightly against him. His lips sought hers, loving and gently. Once they broke apart, Fitz licked his lower lip and smiled at her. Hand rubbing down her sweaty back, his breathy words reached her ears:

"You're so fucking beautiful, Livvie. What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Are you sure you deserve me?" Olivia teased, lifting her head just enough to challenge him with her gaze.

"Hmm," Fitz pretended to think, tapping the tips of his fingers against her back. "I hadn't thought about whether or not I could do better."

"Ugh," Olivia scoffed, lazily swatting at his bicep. "No way."

"You're right. No fucking way."


End file.
